


Good girl gone bad

by BellaGray



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: 1920s, Business, Canon-Typical Violence, Corruption, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Female Jewish Character, Friends With Benefits, Gangs, Golden Twenties, If you haven’t already go watch Peaky Blinders it’s fucking biblical mate, London, Multi, Period-Typical Sexism, Seduction, Sexual Content, Strong Female Characters, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaGray/pseuds/BellaGray
Summary: It is a cold, damp November morning as Lillian Goldstein finally quits her position in a wealthy family’s home. With nothing more than wit, a strong will and the weapons of a woman she achieves what others only dream of: a company of her own. The Goldstein All Women’s Delivery Service is the very first of its kind and expands gradually under the protective hand of its ingenious chairwoman. When one day accepting a delivery for Camden Town, Lillian finds herself torn between the independence she has built for herself and the bittersweet temptations of lust, success and violence.
Relationships: Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

It was a cold, damp and dark November morning. Not long and another year, the year 1919 to be more specific, would come to an eagerly awaited end. After all the terrible proceedings of the last decade, one could only hope the 20s would finally let the people of England rest and recover a little. Lillian Goldstein had already been up for several hours and was now on her usual way to her employment at a well situated family’s home. Not exactly rich, but wealthy enough to pay for a maid, a cook, a gardener and a caregiver for their disabled daughter Rachel, the Cohen family had started to employ Lillian almost exactly a year ago. She should count herself very lucky to have found a position like that when thousands and thousands of people did not know how to make ends meet. More so, because job options for women were scarce and almost non-existent for Jewish women like herself. But she didn’t. In fact she had made up her mind already a while ago and even though her wage was reasonable enough compare to what other women earned she just couldn’t bear the constant “Yes Madam” and the demure obedience anymore. It just wasn’t like herself. The handwritten note in the inside pocket of her coat, she headed for the town house in central London. When she arrived at the Cohen’s place she opened the heavy iron gutter and walked up to the nondescript back door of the dark red brick building with the tall white windows, the wet pebble stones crunching under her feet.

“Morning!”, she called out entering the house’s kitchen, hanging her woolen coat over a hook by the fireplace and making sure the envelope inside was still there. Mrs Smith, the households cook for many years, emerged from behind the stove, wishing her a good morning too. “Got time for a cuppa?”, she then asked in her firm but gentle voice, already rummaging around in a nearby cupboard. Lillian shot a short glance at the elderly woman with the tight bun at the back of her head and then at the clock on the wall - 6.45 am, just enough time to warm herself up a little. “Sure”, she replied and sat down on an old wooden chair, gladly accepting the warm cup of tea that Mrs Smith handed her over. “How’s everything going?”, Lillian asked, not really expecting anything new. “Nothing much, Mrs Cohen will be having guests over for the weekend. You know, her sister and the boys.” Mrs Smith couldn’t help herself but roll her eyes at the prospect of even more work than usual. Lillian had met Mrs Cohen’s sister before. She lived with her husband and the twin boys Aaron and David down in Brighton and came to visit regularly. Over time Lillian had developed a strong dislike to the two boys who were constantly behaving like the spoiled little brats they were being raised to be. “Lots to prepare then, eh?”, said Lillian. Mrs Smith nodded and shrugged her shoulders. Lillian quickly finished her tea - Mrs Cohen would not approve of her being late even for a minute. “Thanks Mrs Smith”, she said and placed the cup in the sink at the other end of the room before she made for the upper story of the house. 

When Lillian arrived in Rachel’s room, the little girl was already awake. Next to her, on a cushioned stool sat her mother Eleanor Cohen. “Good Morning Mrs Cohen”, said Lillian, lowering her eyes and curtsying reluctantly before her mistress. “Miss Goldstein”, acknowledged the elegant and very slim woman coldly. She was dressed in a high-necked burgundy blouse and a black floor length skirt. As was her habit, she had woken her daughter herself. “How can I be of service to you today, Madam?”, asked Lillian as politely as she could, stepping further into the room. “She did not sleep well last night, the poor thing”, Eleanor Cohen said kindly, addressing the child before her. “Get her ready for breakfast, then play her something soothing - not that terrible lapse of taste that you young things consider music. I’ve had some new dresses tailored, make sure she’s wearing one of them when Mr. Cohen gets home for lunch. Oh, and if the weather allows do take her on a little stroll through the garden. I certainly need not remind you that I do not approve of her getting dirty, so no playing this time.”, replied Mrs Cohen stiffly. She then stroked little Rachel’s hair, got up and left the room without another word.

Mrs Cohen was an uptight woman, strict and had a strong dislike towards Lillian. The latter was due to her husband Mr. Cohen, who had on the contrary cast an eye on his young employee and did not exactly make much of an effort to hide his interest. Their only child, the 9 year-old Rachel, had been born with a severe mental disability and was dependent on outside help even for basic tasks such as eating or bathing. When looking for employment after the war, the Cohen’s had entrusted Lillian with the care for their daughter - a task that Lillian never found very fulfilling. Though it certainly was a respectable work Lillian had always found it hard to cope with the strict rules which she had to obey. “Good Morning Rachel”, whispered Lillian, fully aware that the child could not understand what she was saying. She did feel Lillians presence though and made some unintelligible noise in reply. 

Just like any other day, Lillian had Rachel ready for breakfast at 8. She sat down with the girl and helped her eat her porridge under the watchful eye of Eleanor Cohen who was always ready to snap at Lillian even for the slightest mistake. Surprisingly without any interruption, Lillian helped Rachel finish her breakfast, then drove her wheelchair into the library where the family had set up a gramophone. Rachel liked classical music, but Lillian had learned that she particularly enjoyed Yiddish songs to which Lillian gladly sang along when she had ensured her mistress wasn’t listening. Mrs Cohen usually left the house by 10 to gather with her charity group or meet a friend for a walk in the park and didn’t come back until 1 when the family had lunch together. 

Lillian liked the little girl to whose needs she had attended during the past year and she knew Rachel liked her too even though she couldn’t really voice her feelings. But the constant humiliation by Mrs Cohen was unbearable and had intensified over the months Lillian had worked for the family. On good days she was just eyed suspiciously, on bad days Mrs Cohen didn’t hesitate to slap her across the face or let her go hungry for a full day. It took all her willpower not to strike or shout back as she would have done to someone she wasn’t reliant on. And to top it off, Mr Cohen took advantage of every opportunity to “accidentally” brush her backside when walking past, make lewd comments whenever he was sure to be alone with her - or worse. Lillian usually tried to suppress the memories of those two weeks in summer when Mrs Cohen had gone to visit her sister’s mansion by the sea. All in all, Lillian was fed up. 

During lunchtime she assisted Rachel in eating her soup and mashed potatoes and avoided Mr Cohen’s lascivious and Mrs Cohen’s malicious gaze, thinking of the little note in her coat down in the house’s kitchen that would soon free her of her unpleasant situation. With her mind already at home, Lillian helped Rachel go to the bathroom and made her take her daily dose of medicine. The girl’s following nap was the only time during her work that Lillian could rest a little. In fact, it was the only time of the entire day she ever had time for herself. After a quick lunch consisting of the family’s leftovers she joined Mrs Smith for a bit of chatting, then sat down in an old rocking chair by the fire and dozed off for a blissful half hour. When she woke up again it was close to 3 in the afternoon which meant that Rachel would soon need to go to the bathroom, then be changed for a walk outside. Lillian cast a glance at the dozing Mrs Smith beside her, smiling. The elderly woman was harsh but very kind and held her household in a very high esteem. Lillian didn’t understand how anyone could either be so blind or so ignorant of the true ongoings in the family but knew better than to change the woman’s mind. Lillian smiled, quickly washed the teacups they had used before and went back to her duties. 

The hours were dragging on very slowly and with every stroke of the clock Lillian grew more and more restless. Then, after making Rachel ready for bed and being scolded at by Mrs Cohen for not having brushed her teeth long enough, she could finally call it a day. It was 7.30 pm when she carefully placed her notice on the already set up breakfast table in the salon where Mrs Cohen would find it the next day. She had said goodbye to Mrs Smith and thought the cook somehow suspected what was really going on, then closed the back door behind her forever. The wind was howling and the rain heavily pouring but the breath she drew felt like freedom.


	2. Chapter 2

Lillian hadn’t felt that good in a long time. Her savings would get them only through the next two weeks and she had no idea where to get money from afterwards - but she felt free. No more curtsying to frigid cynical mistresses, no more silent enduring of unsolicited touch and although she had taken a liking to little Rachel no more wiping and cleaning of children’s butts that weren’t even her own. Lillian felt good. So good in fact that she decided to allow herself a drink on her way home. Her old leather boots were soaked by the rain and waste water that mingled into a foul reeking stream coming down the streets and her wollen hat didn’t exactly keep her dry either. But what did all of this matter right now? Lillian knew she could not afford any of the fancy bars in the Cohen’s neighbourhood and thus headed for the next best rancid pub once she had entered the London East End. 

She could barely see, so thick was the stale cold smoke inside the tiny room and she dearly wished she couldn’t smell either. The sour stench of male sweat, unwashed bodies and cheap alcohol almost made her retch. Lillian smiled - despite the disgust any normal person would feel, this was where she felt at home. Not this place in particular, even someone like herself held to a certain standard, but this conglomeration of fates, cultures and stories had always made her heart warm up a little. She walked up to the sticky counter and sat down on a wooden stool that, like anything else in the room, had already seen better days. “Oy!”, she called out to no one in particular, banging her hand on the counter. The innkeeper turned his head around and Lillian wondered how he had even gotten behind that counter in the first place with a massive belly like that. He was almost as wide as he was tall. “Oy what?!”, he bellowed, then realised it was Lillian who had addressed him like that. 

Throwing a stained old cloth over his shoulder he walked over to her. “Gotten lost, dear eh?”, the innkeeper asked with a raised eyebrow and leaning over to Lillian. She could smell his foul breath and turned her head without making it too obvious. “Certainly will if I don’t get a drink soon”, she replied cheekily and lit herself a cigarette. “Comin’ right up”, the fat man replied, turned around, then banged a glass of whiskey before her on the counter that was covered in what Lillian hoped were water stains. He still eyed her sceptically as she took a sip of the strong liquid. It wasn’t very usual for a single woman to sit down just like that in a shabby pub unless you were a whore. Lillian knew that but had decided to not give a damn about what some hopeless drunkards would think of her.

She inhaled the smoke of her cigarette greedily, then blew it out and watched the bluish-grey substance swirl around the room. It wasn’t long before the male guests took notice of the attractive young woman at the counter. Lillian had just taken another sip of her drink and another cigarette out of her little metal case when an arm reached out to offer her fire. “Thanks”, she murmured, turning around to face the man that had lit her cigarette seconds before. Before her stood a man in his late 20s with short ginger hair and sympathetic freckles all over his slightly dirty face. Lillian guessed he might be Irish and was instantly proven right by the sound of his words. 

“What’s a lady like yourself doing here all alone, hm?” Lillian rolled her eyes in reply but smirked. “And what fucking business is that to you?” She indicated the empty stool beside her. “What’s your name?”, asked the young man and sat down. “Lillian, you?”, she replied and blew her smoke in his direction. “I’m Shane.” He then leaned over the counter, adding: “And I’d bloody well like another drink!” Lillian grinned, already feeling the impact of the whiskey on an almost empty stomach. The fat innkeeper poured him another whiskey. “And another one for the lady”, said Shane, nodding his head in her direction. “What makes you so damn sure I’m a lady?”, asked Lillian, teasing but honestly interested. Shane looked at her, equally honestly surprised. “Been coming here for a while now and you don’t look like a typical whore.” Lillian raised her eyebrows in amusement. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Shane looked her over from head to toe. “‘t is actually”, he said with a grin. Lillian was surprised that he still seemed to have all of his teeth, at least all the visible ones. Her thoughts were interrupted as the innkeeper placed another glass before her on the counter. “Cheers”, said Shane and raised his glass to meet Lillian’s. 

It was about 3 drinks and 9 cigarettes later that Shane had first laid his hand on Lillians thigh, slowly finding his way under her skirt, then taken her outside to push her up against the damp cold wall. „Fuck it“, thought Lillian, then finally gave in to his advances.


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost 3 in the morning when Lillian closed the door behind her. She leaned against the doorjamb, taking a deep breath. Everyone was asleep so she had to be careful not to wake the others up. The others, that were great-aunt Tilly who owned the flat they shared and her older brother David who had fought in France and had come back a cripple both physically and mentally. Carefully she put hat, coat and shoes aside and sat down at the kitchen table, pouring herself a glass of water. What a night, she thought, running her fingers through her hair. Lillian reeked of alcohol, smoke and Shane’s bodily fluids and looking down on her skirt she realised he had left some obvious stains on the fabric as well. Having finished her water, she then went to the bathroom, turned on the light and for the first time since this morning looked into a mirror. Her reflection however looked nothing like when she had readied herself for work. Lillian’s shoulder-length black hair looked rather dishevelled and her mascara was more under than on her hazel almond-shaped eyes. The thick smoke in the pub had reddened them too and her lungs felt strangely numb as if she had swallowed a cloud. Lillian washed first her face, then under her arms and between her legs, flinching a little as the icy cold water touched the sensitive skin. She yawned and quickly changed her clothes for a nightgown. 

Suddenly very very tired she tiptoed across the narrow hallway and stepped into the room she shared with her brother. As usual, Lillian instinctively checked up on him, touching his deformed face gently. “Good night, Davey”, she whispered and gave him a kiss on the cheek, or rather on what was left of it. David’s company in France had come under heavy attack and his face had been severely severed by shrapnel. Sometimes Lillian still couldn’t believe that this empty shell of a body had once been her beloved brother David. Lillian shook her head to drive away her thoughts. Reassured that her brother was all right, she finally let herself fall into the softness of her own bed on the other side of the room and fell asleep immediately. 

“Lillian?”, called a voice from outside the door, accompanied by a rhythmic knocking. “Are you awake?” Lillian came slowly to her senses, rubbing her eyes. Her night had been a short one and judging by the sun’s position outside her window it was already close to 10. She made a muffled sound that she hoped would be accepted as a yes. When swinging her legs out of the bed and stretching her still tired body she realised that her head was pounding. “Gosh”, she groaned, pressing her hands against her forehead. Lillian was already considering going back to bed when the smell of freshly brewed tea and porridge reached her nose. 

“Oy vey”, said great-aunt Tilly incredulously, looking at Lillian. “What have you been up to, dear?” Lillian sat down and gladly accepted the teacup and bowl Tilly handed her over. “Believe me, you don’t really wanna know” “I guess so, judging by the look of you”, teased aunt Tilly with that typical sparkle in her eyes. Lillian’s great-aunt was her deceased grandmother’s sister and had remained in London when most of the Goldstein family had moved to America in the early 1900s. Her marriage had remained childless and after her husband had died of lung cancer some years ago she had gladly taken David and Lillian in after the war. Aunt Tilly was a resolute lady of 75 and traditional as well as remarkably cheeky for a woman of her generation. “So, did you do it?”, she wanted to know and sat down on a chair opposite of Lillian. Lillian nodded. “‘t was about time”, aunt Tilly sipped at her tea, “I never liked the idea of you doing that work in the first place” Lillian looked up from her porridge. “You do the fu-... the exact same thing for David and don’t seem to have a problem with that.”, stated Lillian, one eyebrow artistically raised. Aunt Tilly set aside her teacup. “He’s family, Lillian. You were doing it for the money.” “Only you can make working for your family sound like a bad thing”, replied Lillian kindly. Then, swirling the last bit of tea in her cup, she added: “Speaking of money .... we’ve got enough till December” She had carefully chosen her phrase, trying to convince herself that “till December” was a lot more time than “two weeks”. But there was no fooling the old lady. Lillians aunt exhaled, then folded her hands on the table and smiled encouragingly. “That’s half a month to find a solution.” 

Lillian left the house by noon. She had washed the dishes, helped aunt Tilly change David clothes, grabbed her purse and went straight for the market where she hoped to meet her childhood friend Margaret. Unlike Lillian, Margaret had married shortly after the war and had moved in with her husband John. She also was passionately devoted to the communist cause. “Margie!”, Lillian burst out as she spotted her friend with the curly brown hair at the cheese shop. The young woman turned around and smiled broadly upon detecting her friend making her way through the crowd of people. Lillian kissed her on both cheeks. “Long time no see!”, said Margaret cheerfully and looked Lillian over. “You look good!” “And you’re as bad a liar as ever” replied Lillian referring to her still very obvious hangover status quo. The women laughed, then strolled along the street to sit down for tea. Although both women tried to see each other regularly, there was always lots to tell and even more to gossip. After the two had poured out their hearts to one another - Margaret about her husband being too stingy and Lillian about her current unemployment - either of them went their own way. 

Aunt Tilly had given her a shopping list before Lillian had left the house. Having gotten some fresh bread, milk and butter from the market already, she went over to the vegetable stand to haggle for some onions and potatoes. Handing over the money, Lillian overheard the shopkeeper muttering to himself. “Always late that little bastard. Gonna teach him a lesson, I will” He handed Lillian her bag. Carefully checking he’d given her exactly as much as she paid for, Lillian tried to start a conversation. She already had an idea who the shopkeeper was angry with as she’d been coming here regularly for years now and had seen some of the delivery boys successfully avoiding work “Such a nice day today, innit?”, asked Lillian innocently. “Would be if everyone just minded their own fucking business”, he barked at her, his face a lobster-like red. But Lillian didn’t give up that easily. She took out her metal case and offered him a cigarette. Taken by surprise, he instantly grabbed it. “What’s been bugging you?”, tried Lillian again. “Quite the investigator, eh?”, mocked the shopkeeper but as he inhaled the smoke of his cigarette Lillian felt his temper ease a little. “Fine. ‘t is all about that oaf of a boy, ya know. Wouldn’t even be on time if someone turned him into a pocket watch, that one. Got business to do, bills to pay and that lazy bugger can’t get his lazy arse up and get his fucking work done.” 

Lillian nodded understandingly. “Too bad. Very unprofessional indeed. You know what, Mr.?”, Lillian sucked at her cigarette, “Brown”, said the man grudgingly. “Mr. Brown, right then. Will make you an offer, I will. You know, as it happens, I’m looking for an income. And it so happens that your delivery boy is a lazy bugger that can’t get his lazy arse up to do his work, innit? Isn’t that the most curious coincidence?” Lillian had casually leaned herself against his stand, accompanying her every word with emphatic hand movements. “You kiddin’ me miss?”, the shopkeeper asked, face slowly regaining the lobster-like red stains. “Not at all. Wouldn’t waste our time like that, I would. I’d get the work done, say, twice as fast.” Lillian knew this was the moment he either took the bait or exploded ultimately. “Insolent pain in the neck you are, miss.” His posture still signalled aversion but Lillian could see his brain working hard to calculate how much of a bargain he’d make if someone got the same work done twice as fast. „And I’ll do the first week free of charge.” “Is that so?”, mumbled the shopkeeper, stroking his scratchy moustache. “Right then, it’s a deal.”, he finally made up his mind, reaching out for a handshake. “Must have lost me bloody mind hiring a woman”. It took all her effort not to grin like a damn lunatic - that had gone a lot easier than she had thought it would. “Trust me sir, you won’t regret it. See ya tomorrow then at...?” “7 sharp”, “7 it’ll be then. Goodbye Mr Brown.”, concluded Lillian and turned on her heel, making for home, the grocery bag clutched tightly to her chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long before Lillian meets Alfie, just in case you were wondering :)
> 
> Also, not a native speaker here, so any remarks as to the language are much appreciated

“And don’t forget to let Mr. Yavakov sign the receipt!”, said Lillian as she grabbed her coat and new leather bag. Ava nodded. “Sure Ms. G. Got it right here already”. She waved a slip of paper around so as to confirm her words. “Right then. See ya and the girls later then, I guess?” “Yeah, should be here by 5 the lot of them”

It was a cold and sunny winter morning, the air was crisp and the streets were covered in a million little icy crystals that reflected the sun beautifully. Lillian checked her watch as she walked down the street to the bus station. She sat down, opened her shiny and still a little stiff leather briefcase and took out a handful of handwritten notes. Gosh, how much she was looking forward to that typewriter she had already paid a small fortune for as a deposit. Ava and herself had even learned shorthand through a friend of a friend of her bestie Margaret. Carefully Lillian double-checked all the information and data in the papers. She had set up a detailed contract draft that she was convinced contained an unbeatable offer. If everything went as she hoped it would, this would be her biggest deal yet! As the bus stopped before her, she sat down in the back, tucked away the contract and watched the houses, shops and pubs of her district go by. It wasn’t far to the Poplar Docks and she could have afforded a cab for the short ride easily but Lillian still wasn’t used to allow herself such luxuries. It was the 24. January 1921 and Lillian Goldstein had been owner and executive of the GD Ltd for a little over 9 months. The Goldstein All Women’s Delivery Service was the very first of its kind and given the developments Lillian had obviously bridged a gap in the market at just the right time. Lillian smiled, hardly concealing her pride. Her employment with Mr. Brown from the vegetable stand hat lasted little more than a month - blimey what an utter arse he had been. But the households she had been delivering goods for had taken a liking to the ambitious young woman that didn’t waste time harassing the maids or short-changed the cooks unlike so many of the lads. And so it just happened that Lillian had kind of slipped into a sort of freelance work. She collected the orders from her customers in the evenings, woke at the crack of dawn to get the freshest food from the market and delivered them dependably to her clients.

It was an exhausting job and word spread quickly about that daring delivery woman that firmly stood her ground in a man’s job. Within three months Lillian had doubled her clients from 7 to 14 and when one day a spectacled young woman had approached her, Lillian gladly delegated some clients to her. The idea of an official women’s delivery service was born and had become reality shortly after. It hadn’t been easy to find an affordable office but in the end Lillian had found the tiniest of rooms by the help of Margaret’s husband John. Rent was high and Lillian was pretty sure it was a blatant rip-off but the feeling of being her own damn boss had talked her into overlooking that fact. Some weeks after settling into the GD Ltd headquarter, sturdy Mildred had asked for employment and shortly after that Becky had joined the club. It had been a special concern to Lillian to only give out vacancies to women. Not only because it was part of her business model but also because she had experienced discrimination and harassment as an unemployed woman first hand. Together, they could make a difference, together they stood a chance in this fucked up male-dominated world. The only problem was that she had played the Good Samaritan already in hiring Mildred and had gone far beyond her financial possibilities with Becky. All the more important hence that she got to close that deal today. 

“Next stop: Poplar Docks”, shouted the bus driver from the front and Lillian got out. The wholesale she was headed for belonged to a certain Mr. Isaacs with whom she had already spoken on the phone. “All right let’s do this. Let’s go get this bloody deal done.”, thought Lillian, straightening her shoulders and taking a deep icy breath.

“G’ morning”, said Lillian as she entered the warehouse. A slim boy no older than 17 stopped counting barrels on one of the innumerable racks.

“Yeah?”

“Umm ... I’ve a meeting with Mr. Isaacs. Could you-“

“‘Do ya?”, interrupted the boy with a skeptical look. “After me then” Lillian was determined not to let that babyface affect her carefully prepared mask of self-confidence. She followed him past seemingly endless rows of racks filled with all sorts of goods to a metal staircase that led to some kind of gallery.

“First door on the left”, said the boy and turned around. “Won’t you at least, you know, announce I’m here?” Lillian was flabbergasted. The boy rolled his eyes, then scurried past her on the narrow staircase and knocked on his boss’s door.

“There’s some _woman_ here for you, Mr. Isaacs” He made it sound like it wouldn’t be any less strange if a unicorn had popped up right in front of him. Lillian who had hurried after the boy, saw Mr. Isaacs lean over his solid and certainly very expensive mahogany desk so as to have a look at said woman.

“This is about the delivery contract, I suppose?”, he then asked, eyeing her from under his half moon spectacles.

“Yes, sir. I’ coming from GD Ltd to-“

“Do come in then.” Lillian was once again interrupted.

“And do close the door behind you, would you?” Lillian did as she was told.

“Please take a seat, Miss...?” Mr. Isaacs indicated a leather armchair in front of his desk, still scrutinising her but smiling now - albeit a very fake professional smile.

“Goldstein. Lillian Goldstein.”

He looked taken aback, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Goldstein, yeah? Your father sent you then, I assume? Or whoever that is who sent you here. Quite the move, but perfectly in line with the business model, I’ll grant him that.” He started cleaning his gold-rimmed spectacles and chuckled. “All women’s delivery”

This time it was Lillian who looked taken aback. “I’m sorry, sir, but I think I can’t quite follow you.”

“Yeah I thought as much.”, sneered Mr. Isaacs.

Silence fell for a moment. “Mr. Isaacs. I, umm, just to get this right....GD Ltd is completely under female management. Represented as it so happens by myself.”

Mr. Isaacs burst out in laughter. A genuine laughter, as if it wasn’t even on his goddamn radar that a woman could possibly run a business.

“You’re a funny one, aren’t you? Now, please, I have real business to attend to, so could you maybe get to the point?”

Hot fury boiled up in Lillian’s insides, pulse already drastically high. This was heading into a completely wrong direction.

“Mr. Isaacs, I _am_ here for business. We’ve talked on the phone some days ago regarding weekly deliveries from your warehouse. It was me you were speaking to that day, and to make it clear once and for all: I wasn’t acting on behalf of my father or any other male superior. Look, I’ve set up this draft containing all basic terms and conditions such as weekly cargo, timetables, salary and so on. Details yet to be discussed.” Lillian opened her briefcase and took out the sheave of paper, placing it between them on the shiny mahogany desk. 

All amusement had disappeared from Mr. Isaacs face. It had given way to point-blank bewilderment.

“This...this is a joke, right? This must be a bloody joke! All right, missy, this is a complete waste of time. And I’d really appreciate it if you left me to the real deals now.”

He stood up, walking over to the door and opened it, clearly signalling their meeting had come to an end.

“Will you find your way out by yourself or should I call for Samuel?”

“No thanks, I’ll manage”, said Lillian chilly. She gathered the contract, stuffed it in her bag, then paused for a moment. Then she reached for a pen on the desk, turned a page of the contract upside down and hastily wrote down some phone numbers. On her way out of the office she stopped right in front of Mr. Isaacs. “Just in case you’ll overthink your decision. Here’s a list of clients that will confirm my reliability. Judging by the amount of paperwork on your desk, you seem to need a little help in getting your orders and deliveries straight.” Lillian smiled innocently, then left the office without further ado.


	5. Chapter 5

It was fucking outrageous! This was the second time in a month that this dumb piece of shite had messed up his order and Alfie would  _not put up with this_ . The warehouse loomed over the malodorous docks like a big grey lion’s den. And Alfie would be the fucking gladiator. 

His walking stick made a monotonous sound on the slightly slick cobblestones every time he took a step forward, announcing his arrival. Upon entering the storage hall, the two boys had ceased whatever it was they were doing, eyes fixed anxiously on Alfie. “Right then, ya lazy sods, which one of you’ll do me the favour of announcing me to your fucking boss?”

The two lads exchanged worried looks. It wasn’t usually a good thing when Mr. Solomons personally came to the warehouse. And judging by the furious sparkle in his eyes, the reason he came for today wasn’t a good thing at all.

“NOW!”, bellowed Alfie, making a step forward that sent the boys running. If it wasn’t for the fact that the mismanagement of Mr. Isaacs had cost him dear money, he would probably have found the intimidated boys quite amusing.

“M-M-Mr. Solomons, Sir, Mr. Isaacs is ready to talk to you now”, stuttered the shorter but obviously slightly braver one when they hurried back to the storage hall.

“Did he say that, eh? Well then let’s see if that’s so.”, murmured Alfie and made for the staircase to Mr. Isaacs office.

Alfie slammed the door shut as he entered the lavishly furnished room. Mr. Isaacs squirmed around in his chair, eyes wide open and filled with dread.

“I-I can explain everything, Sir. Mr. Solomons please, I’ve had my reasons-“

Alfie walked casually about the room, twirling his walking sticks in circles. Then he stopped, addressing the man at the desk.

“Reasons, ya?”

Mr. Isaacs nodded frantically.

“And what fucking reason would that be, Mr. Isaacs?”

“I, I, well, there was this....I mean we’re”, stammered Mr. Isaacs

“Do go on. Can’t wait to hear your fucking reasons” Alfie cocked his head to his side so as to demonstrate interest.

“Mr. Solomons, Sir, we are very sorry about this. We really are. Very unfortunate. We’ve lost two lads to the measles, you know. Good workers, good boys.”

Alfie tapped his walking stick on the ground, knuckles standing out white against the dark wood.

“And when was this?”

“I umm I, I don’t remember exactly. About six weeks ago I guess” Mr. Isaacs dried his sweaty palms on his trousers.

Alfie leaned the stick onto the desk, then slowly counted to six with his fingers.

“So you mean to tell me,right, that during these six weeks, right, you neither managed to hire someone else nor to fucking inform me bout fucking shit, ‘sat so?”

Mr. Isaacs gulped, still fidgeting with the pen in his hands.

“‘Sat so?”, shouted Alfie menacingly.

Mr. Isaacs nodded reluctantly.

In the blink of an eye Alfie had reached for his walking stick again and had smashed it on the desk. The impact knocked over Mr Isaacs teacup and sent a pile of loosely arranged documents flying.

Mr. Isaacs had flinched, covering his head with his arms so as to avoid Alfie’s outburst.

“YOU FUCKIN TWAT!”, barked Alfie and walked around the desk, grabbing Mr. Isaacs by the collar. “YOU FUCKIN THRICE DAMNED MILKSOP”

Mr Isaacs winced.

“Right, Mr. Isaacs. I’ve got exactly 10 bloody minutes left to spare for you miserable scum. ‘sat enough time for to get your fucking job done?”

Mr Isaacs looked up, face all red and sweaty, his whole body trembling.

Alfie drew out his gun and placed it on the desk. “Cause if not, ya, I’ll see to it myself. ‘Sat understood?”

Mr Isaacs nodded.


	6. Chapter 6

Alfie took another look at the slip of paper Mr. Isaacs had dug out from his bin beside the desk on which Alfie’s walking stick had left a remarkable crack.  _Right, the stick_ ,  thought Alfie and mentally noted that he’d instruct Ollie to get him a new one and have the bill sent to the Poplar Docks. Not only had it left its marks on the desk, the desk in return had caused the delicate dark wood to splinter. The contents of the knocked over tea cup on the table had left several stains on the paper and therefore mostly illegible.  _ Fucking imbecile _ , thought Alfie, then frowned. This was certainly not how he had planned to spend his afternoon. But he had to make sure Mr. Isaacs hadn’t just lied straight to his face to save his useless pimply ass. And Alfie had to admit,  _ if  _ what he‘d said was in fact true, he was just a tiny bit curious as well. He flattened the crumpled paper and pinned it down with his glass of rum. Then he began to decipher the hastily scribbled down phone numbers. 

——————————-

  
Lillian entered the office the next day later than usual. She hadn’t realised in time that David’s medication was almost used up and had to drive all the way up to Hackney where the pharmacy had his pills in stock. It was a dull, grey day with a drizzle so fine you didn’t realise it was raining until you we’re soaked head to toes.

“s there some tea left? I’m bloody freezing” She said as she wiggled out of her damp scarf and coat.

“Right away Ms. G” Ava got up from her desk and went into the small back room that was even tinier than the office itself and placed a cup of steaming tea in front of Lillian.

There was just enough space in the office for two desks, some bookshelves and a worn out leather chair in one of the corners but Lillian cherished the feeling of sitting down behind her very own desk in her very own company every time she came in for work.

“Sorry for being late, Ava. Got delayed.” Lillian was well aware that she didn’t owe anybody an explanation but she felt a little apology was in order. Also, it was quite important to her that she and the girls worked on a basis of trust rather than submission and obedience.

“Oh, don’t you worry Ms. G. ‘s quite alright. Mildred’s headed for Mr. Yavakov right now, should be back in an hour or so.”

Lillian nodded. “And Becky?”

  
“Will be in for the afternoon. You gave her leave to see the doctor’s, remember?”

“Yeah, right. Did you do the book keeping for last week?”

Ava handed her a notebook.

“You’re a peach”, said Lillian, going through the calculations and numbers.

“Oh, and Ms. G?”

“Mhh?”

“There was a visitor for you this morning.”

Lillian put the pen aside that she’d used to make some small notes and corrections.

“Gosh, that woman’s got nerves! I already told her we’re a  _ delivery _ service not a goddamn quality inspection.” Lillian was referring to Mrs. Green who had repeatedly complained about her vegetables being all mushy. “You go tell her that right now and take Mr. Andrews right with you.” Mr. Andrews was the vegetable vendor that Mrs. Green ordered her food from. 

“Actually”, Ava shifted around in her chair nervously, “actually it wasn’t a client.”

Lillian paused, cocking an eyebrow at her employee. “You all right?”

“Mhh”

“Who was it?” Lillian didn’t quite understand Ava’s reaction.

“Umm, a certain Mr. Solomons, Ms. G”

Lillian made a hand movement that indicated Ava should go on.

“Stormed right in and asked for you, Ms. G. Made me quite uncomfortable that one, if I may say so.”

“And why is that?” Lillian had put the notebook aside, a confused and slightly worried look on her face.

“Did he do anything to you?”

“No, no, nothing of the the sort. It’s just that, dunno, he was just terrifying with his hat and his stick and all”

“Okaaaay” Lillian stretched out the words, still not sure what to think of all this. 

“He said he’d gotten the address from Mr. Yavakov from the restaurant and that he wanted to talk to you. Told him you weren’t available. Didn’t seem too pleased about it.”

“And then?”

“I told him he could come back later and that you’d be there Ms. G. Said I shouldn’t waste his fucking time and that he’d wanted to meet you in his office as soon as possible.”

_ Audacious fucker _ , thought Lillian. 

“And then he left?”

“No, not yet. First he made me check your appointments, so I told him you’d be available tomorrow morning.”

Lillian scowled. 

“Blimey, Ava! You can’t just mess up my plans like that! Why should I even want to meet that bloke?”

Ava looked to the ground, obviously ashamed. 

“Dunno, Ms. G, just didn’t seem to brook no argument that one. I’m sorry, really am”

Lillian was furious. Not so much with Ava but with the audacity of a complete stranger literally ordering her into his office and intimidating her staff. 

“And you’re sure he didn’t touch you or anything?”

“No- I mean, yes! Like I said, just a bit strange is all”

Lillian eyed her carefully: no bruises or anything visible.

“Right, then. You know you should tell me about such things, yeah? Cause if he did, I’m going to find his fucking superior to deal with him ok?”

Ava nodded. “Thanks, Ms. G”

“Right, let’s see then what this is all about.”, said Lillian. Then she continued making notes on last weeks orders.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me guys!  
> Here we finally go: first meeting of Lillian and Alfie!

Lillian had very mixed feelings about this meeting. She was annoyed with this Mr. Solomon’s smug and presumptuous appearance in her office - who exactly did he think he was?! But after some pondering and brain racking she had to admit that she didn’t have the faintest idea what he could possibly want from her so urgently. This was not how potential clients usually approached her, they mostly came from the same extended network of people. But she’d never even fucking heard of this self-satisfied shmuck. And to cap it all, what on earth did he think to intimidate Ava like some ludicrous Jewish version of fucking Al Capone?! All in all, Lillian wanted to get this over with - but she couldn’t help it to feel just a tiny bit curious as well. 

In the questionable honour of the occasion Lillian had taken a cab to take her to Camden Town where this ominous Mr. Solomons had his office. Ava had scribbled down his address, as if he couldn’t just have handed her his card like any normal person would do.

“Here we are”, said the cab driver and stopped in a cobblestoned driveway before an enormously large brick building. Lillian handed him over the money and got out.

It was a sunny but cold day and Lillian had dolled herself up just enough to lift her confidence but still look very work-appropriate. She smoothed her brown pleated skirt and popped the collar of her wollen overcoat to shield her against the icy wind. Then she headed down the driveway, looking up to the building and wondering behind which window lay the office of this Mr. Solomons. When she had almost reached the entrance door, Lillian realised there was someone standing outside. She was already considering asking for the directions to Mr. Solomons office when the slim young man with the curly brown hair approached her.

“Ms. Goldstein?”

Lillian paused for the slightest of moments, then proceeded to the doorstep and took the man’s outstretched hand.

“Yes. I’ve an appointment with Mr. Solomons”

“He’s already expecting you. Just follow me, if you would?”

He held the door open for Lillian, then lead her through a plain hallway up to a wooden staircase. Loud rumble and other hubbub came from an indefinite place underneath or behind the building and there was a faint sticky sweet smell lingering in the air as if from a cheap women’s perfume. 

When they reached the landing, the young man knocked on a dark wooden door and Lillian took a deep breath. She hadn’t expected to be received like that and her curiosity had unwillingly grown by the minute. 

“Yeah?”, came a deep, melodic and slightly nasal voice from inside the room that Lillian suspected belonged to Mr. Solomons. 

“Ms. Goldstein is here for you, Mr. Solomons”

“Yeah, right. Show her in then, show her in, will ya?”

The young man looked over to Lillian and nodded. 

Lillian took the remaining steps that still separated her from the office and froze. Ava hadn’t exaggerated that his appearance was kind of terrifying. The way he casually sat in his chair with his broad shoulders and muscled arms, twirling his scruffy beard, eyes fixed upon her made her nervousness rise instantly to an almost ridiculous level. 

“Fuck off now, Ollie, will ya?”

Lillian regained her composure - or rather tried to. 

“Do you always talk to your staff like that, Mr. Solomons?”, she said slightly incredulously. 

The man stretched out his arms in a welcoming gesture. 

“Ah, Ms. Goldstein. Shalom, shalom. What can I do for you?” 

Lillian still stood in the middle of the office as if glued to the spot, struggling to find the right words. 

“What can  _ you _ do for  _ me _ ?” Lillian frowned once again upon his audacity. He had literally ordered  _ her  _ into his office and not the other damn way round. She decided there and thenthat she wouldn’t simply put up with this shite even though her self-confidence was rather brittle at the moment. 

“Well, first you could do me the very great favour of telling me what this is all about, would ya?” She removed her coat and put it upon a hook on the door without asking. “And then a refreshment would be wonderful” 

She turned around just in time to see the corner of his mouth twitch a little, then turn back to this menacing scowl that made her slightly uneasy. 

“How very impolite of me, Ms. Not a way to greet a guest, yeah? You will forgive me though, right?” He raised his hands in pretended capitulation. 

“That, Mr. Solomons -“ Lillian walked up to his desk and sat down in the leather armchair in front of it. “-depends entirely on your answers to my question” She placed her briefcase beside the chair. “And the quality of my drink.” 

He looked at her for a moment. 

“Yeah, right, the drink.”, said Mr. Solomons, once again stroking his beard. 

“OLLIE! MOVE YOUR LAZY ASS IN HERE, WILL YA?” His voice rang in Lillian’s ears like a roll of thunder and she hoped he hadn’t noticed her jump up just a little. 

There was a short and very awkward pause in which nobody said a word until that poor sod Ollie walked in. 

“The lady wants a drink, Ollie” 

“Right, and what does the lady want to drink?”he replied, slightly irritated. 

“Yeah, what  _ does _ the lady want to drink? Gin, whiskey, rum perhaps?” Lillian noted the hand gestures he used to accompany his every word. 

“Heavens, have you had a look at the clock today? It’s 11 in the morning. I’ll have tea - with milk. And sugar.” She turned around to Ollie. 

“Tea?”, he raised is eyebrows as if she’d requested wine from the Holy Grail. 

“Yeah, that crumbly dried stuff you boil with hot water”, said Mr. Solomons in Ollie’s direction. 

Lillian couldn’t help herself but suppress a chuckle. 

“Yeah, tea. Right away, Sir.” Ollie closed the door behind him and Lillian could hear his descending footsteps on the stairs. 

“Don’t mind though if I go for a glass, mhh?”

“Not at all”, replied Lillian. “Don’t mind if I light myself a cigarette?”

“Not at all” said Mr. Solomons. Then he got up from behind his desk and walked over to the rather well-equipped liquor cart in the corner. While sucking in the smoke, Lillian observed his every move. He was  _ big _ . Not big as in fat but big as in large, strong, broad. His white linen shirt stretched over his back as he bent down to reach for a bottle and there were veins popping out on his hairy muscular underarms that were visible due to his sleeves being rolled up.  _ Not a bad sight at all _ , thought Lillian, then mentally slapped herself for even thinking that. This guy was an audacious, arrogant and disrespectful fucker and she already pitied this Ollie bloke for working here. 

Lillian noticed a slight limp in Mr. Solomon’s leg when Ollie entered the office once again to bring her the cup of tea. 

“Thank you”, said Lillian and gifted him an encouraging smile.

“And now -“, started Mr. Solomons, slumping back into his chair with a glass of what by the smell of it seemed to be rum.

“Fuck off?”, finished Ollie for him.

“Yeah”

Lillian rolled her eyes.  _ Wanker _

Then she put out her cigarette in the heavy crystal ashtray on the desk.

“So, let’s talk business, yeah?” Mr. Solomons took a sip from his drink and swirled it around in his mouth before swallowing. His eyes were once again fixed upon Lillian. Suddenly she didn’t know where to look at, so she turned to her cup of tea.

“Fire away”, she said coolly.


	8. Chapter 8

“So?”, asked Mr. Solomons, leaning back in his chair in such an explicitly masculine way that Lillian couldn’t help but wonder if he did this on purpose. He had spent the last 20 minutes submitting her a delivery deal adding lots of rights and yeahs and other words that Lillian would have gotten at least a week of detention for if her parents were concerned. 

Lillian exhaled, then crossed her legs, causing the hem of her pleated skirt to lift just a little.

“Mr. Solomons, Sir” Lillian placed her hands on either side of the armrests. “This is all very nice, you ordering me here into your office and offering me a deal and all. But I still don’t have the faintest idea how you even got my address and why of all deliveries in this bloody city you happened to chose mine.”

“Is that a no?”, replied Mr Solomons with pretended disappointment but an honest look of surprise that he quickly covered by gulping down some more rum.

“That is a question, Mr. Solomons. And one that shouldn’t be too hard to answer, I suppose.”

He set the glass aside and started to fiddle with the handle of his desk drawers while Lillian lit herself another cigarette.

“I need someone to do the job, yeah? You own a delivery service, right? Simple as that.”

Lillian was about to lose her temper.

“For fucks sake! Simple as that? You can’t just walk up into my office, threaten my staff and then not bloody tell me where you got my fucking address from! You know what, Mr. Solomons? The reason why I even opened up this business is because I was fucking fed up with men pushing me around. So, it’d really be a bliss if you could just answer my bloody question.” Then she smiled the most innocent smile she was capable of.

Mr. Solomons smirked. Not only with his lips but with his eyes too. He had remarkable bluish-grey eyes that were full of mischief and ....  _ bloody hell, Lillian, stay focused! _

“Threaten your staff? ‘Sat what she told you?” He sounded quite amused.

Lillian was suddenly aware that she might have overreacted - just a little.

“Actually - no. That’s not what she said. But from what she told me I gather you might have been a little bit more ... decent, that’s all”

Mr. Solomons nodded.

“Decent, yeah?” He seemed to ponder the words, still fussing around with his drawer. “What do you want to know, Ms. Goldstein?” 

Lillian was just a tiny bit surprised. Was this heading to an actual conversation?

“Like I said” - she took a drag of her cigarette - “how did you get my address? I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate potential new clients, all I’m asking is that they don’t try to play the mysterious guy!”

He chuckled, then reached for his glass.

“I don’t.”, he said firmly and pierced her with his eyes again. Then, before Lillian could lose her temper again, he added: “I got it from Moishe - Isaacs, that is.”

Lillian frowned. “Gosh, seriously?” She was slightly intrigued that he’d even passed on her references. She could have sworn she’d heard the sound of paper being crumpled and thrown in the bin after she’d left the office.

“Yeah, was quite cooperative.”

“ _ Really _ ?!” She was aware of the complete disbelief in her own voice. “Are we talking about the same Mr. Isaacs? The one at the Poplar Docks?”

“The obnoxious bootlicking bastard? Yeah, the very one”

Lillian had to stifle her laughter.

“Was quite some work to get to that fucking address of yours, Ms.”

“You didn’t actually call all these numbers, did ya?”

Mr. Solomons shrugged his shoulders in reply, refilling his glass with another very generous amount of rum.

“But.... why ? I mean, there are plenty of delivery services around. And I don’t even know anyone in this part of town.”

“Precisely.”

Lillian shook her head in confusion but he let it go unanswered. Their conversation was on the brink of drifting into that awkward silence again, so Lillian quickly dug deeper.

“So - why GD Ltd?”

Mr. Solomons began stroking his beard again and Lillian noticed the two little tattoos on his hands. That was ... odd.

“I’m Jewish, you know-“

“You don’t say” interrupted Lillian sarcastically and put out her cigarette.

“I’m Jewish, you’re Jewish, right? I’d rather give out the job to a dependable Jewish woman than to an irresponsible gentile fuck. Makes sense, yeah?”

“Mr Solomons, that’s the poorest compliment I’ve ever heard” Lillian could still not say that she had taken a liking to this man - just like Ava had said everything about him was strangely threatening. But the fact that he’d called Mr. Isaacs an - what was that?- obnoxious bootlicking bastard made him appear in a slightly more sympathetic light.

“So, Ms Goldstein, what do you say?”

Mentally, Lillian went through all the details again. It really wasn’t a bad deal at all. There was just one problem - she didn’t own a car.

“Mr. Solomons, I can’t say that I’m not interested. Sure, this really isn’t how I usually do business, but your offer is undeniably tempting. Adequate salary - though I still see some room for discussion here - and solid terms and conditions. But I’m afraid I have to turn it down.”

Mr. Solomons folded his hands with the heavy gold rings on the desk, eyeing her intensely.

“And why is that, Ms Goldstein?”

Lillian could almost feel the tension in the room growing and knew his patience was close to an end.

“I don’t own a car, Mr. Solomons. And I can’t and won’t let the girls carry all that on a carriage.”

He seemed nonplussed. “Don’t you want to expand?”

“Don’t you listen to me, Mr. Solomons? I told you that I don’t own a bloody car.”

“Don’t you rack your pretty little brain bout that, yeah?”

Now Lillian was taken aback.

“What do you mean, Mr. Solomons?”

“Do we have a deal? Then I’ll see to that bloody car. And if we don’t, I need you to fuck off now, yeah, cause I’ve got some more work to do today.”

Lillian didn’t know what to say. All this was odd. Why would anyone she’d hardly known for an hour offer her a fucking car like he didn’t even need to think about it? But just like Ava had said, he didn’t seem to brook any reasonable argument.

“Yeah, we have a deal, Mr. Solomons - on one condition“

Mr. Solomons looked up from behind his glass, slightly annoyed.

„Mmph?“

„Next time I come around you’ll have some fresh tea, yeah? That stuff was bloody awful!”, complained Lillian, albeit smiling.

Then she reached out over the desk to shake his big, calloused hands to seal the deal.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading my story! I haven't got a clue if 600 hits is a lot at this point or not but I'm honestly so happy you guys read and hopefully enjoy it :)

Lillian still couldn’t believe she had actually agreed to this deal. She sat in the back of yet another cab that Mr. Solomons had insisted upon calling, still feeling the warm pressure of his roughened hands on hers as they had sealed the deal.  
This was actually the best deal she’d ever made and with the new stream of income from the bakery deliveries she could make sure to pay her employee’s monthly salaries - maybe even add a little bit on top. Not to speak of the bloody car she’d otherwise not even be thinking about for the next few years. She should feel grateful - and she did - but she just couldn’t stop feeling a little bit odd about the whole situation as well.  
Mr. Solomons had turned out to be a very intriguing man, both witty and gentlemanly as well as mad and menacing. But beside all the sarcastic side blows and remarks Lillian had appreciated him actually taking her business seriously. He hadn’t, unlike others before him, questioned her liability, skills or authority. In fact, he hadn’t asked her anything about GD Ltd, which was rather odd again now that she came to think of it.  
Lillian realised she was drifting into an endless slope of overthinking and decided to put an end to it right now. How bad could it be, even if there was something going on that didn’t quite match the definition of kosher? 

When Lillian opened the door, the mouth-watering smell of Latkes, the Jewish potato pancakes that only Great Aunt Tilly could bake that well, welcomed her home.

„Lillian dear, is this you?“, came Tillys voice from the kitchen. Not for the first time did Lillian wonder who else might be expected for lunch if not her, but the prospect of food made any further inquiry impossible. Lillian left her coat, hat and bag in the hallway, then entered the kitchen and placed two kisses on either of her Great Aunt’s cheeks. „This smells wonderful!“ She had a look at the perfectly round cakes that were sizzling in a probably very unhealthy amount of oil on the stove. „How’s Davey?“

„Fine. Been asleep the last time I checked on him. Will you put aside some food for him, dear?“

Lillian took a porcelain plate out of the cupboard, then mashed some Latkes and sour cream and put the plate aside to let it cool down. David couldn’t swallow whole food and quickly got blisters if it was served too hot so that Lillian and Tilly had gotten used to eating first, then feed David afterwards. 

She then proceeded to pile an almost ridiculous amount of pancakes on her own plate that would have had the Leaning Tower of Pisa go green with envy, then sat down with her aunt to eat.

„So tell me dear, how did it go?“, asked Tilly, forwarding a fork of Latkes to her mouth. 

Lillian swallowed, then looked up from her plate.

„Great, actually! I mean like Ava said, he’s kind of a strange guy honestly-“

Tilly had stopped eating and cast her a piercing look.

Lillian blushed.

„Gosh, no! Not that kind of strange! What I meant to say is that he’s quite umm quite a character, you know? But we made a deal, and a rather good one at that I’d say….“

Aunt Tilly knowingly raised an eyebrow. „But?“  
If there was a way to fool that woman, Lillian still hadn’t discovered it after all these years. She must have some kind of sensor for all that she knew.

„Well, tante, the thing is“, Lillian concentrated on spreading sour cream on her Latkes more than was actually necessary, „the job requires a car.“

„A car?“

„Yeah, the distance is just too long for a carriage and the loads probably too heavy. We’ve got to pick up the flour from the Poplar Docks and deliver them to Camden two times a week. Mr. Solomons has offered me a van that I can pay off in monthly installments. They’re rather symbolic I’d say and very much feasible….but he’ll need a deposit.“

Aunt Tilly nodded, obviously thinking through what Lillian had said.  
„And this deposit is supposed to be what exactly?“

„He didn’t name a specific sum actually…“

Tilly put her fork aside with a clank. „Oh, don’t beat about the bush!“

Lillian blushed once again.  
„Right then…I was thinking that maybe I could take the candlesticks. You know, the ones that“

„I got from my father?“, finished Aunt Tilly the sentence for her. 

Lillian avoided her aunt’s eyes. „Only until I manage to pay off the rest, that is.“

Tilly took a breath, then reached over the table to take Lillian’s hand.

„I couldn’t think of a better use for them, dear“

______________________________________

„Yeah?“, sounded Mr. Solomon’s powerful voice from inside his office.

„Ms. Goldstein to see you, Sir.“, said Ollie to announce her arrival just like last time. 

„Ms. Goldstein! Do come in, yeah?“ The unique sound of his voice, this mixture of friendly but also demanding undertones, sent a small shiver down Lillian’s spine.

„Good morning, Mr Solomons!“, she greeted him with an honest smile as she was about to hand over the deposit for her own fucking car.

And maybe, just maybe, she might have overdressed the tiniest bit. If for the occasion or her latest business partner, she wasn’t exactly sure herself. 

Mr Solomons indicated the leather armchair in front of his desk and Lillian noticed a cup of steaming hot tea in front of her.

„As you can see I kept my part of the deal.“ He looked her in the eye, mischief and expectation in his look. 

Lillian reached out for the cup and tried the milky brown liquid. 

„Yeah, much better indeed. Almost enjoyable“. She smirked, then lit herself a cigarette.

The cigarette between her red lips, she pulled her leather bag onto her lap, then reached inside to present the two delicate gold-coated candlesticks with the Hebrew carvings that Lillian had gotten from Aunt Tilly. 

Mr. Solomons eyes widened for a scarcely perceptible moment, then went back to their usual observing state.

„And I kept mine“, said Lillian and tapped the ash of her cigarette in the ashtray. Her lipstick had left red stains on the filter and she noted Mr. Solomons gaze wander to where she had placed the cigarette seconds before. 

Mr. Solomons took the candlesticks in his hands, then examined them in what appeared to be a rather expert manner.

„Will they do?“, asked Lillian, taking another drag of smoke. 

„Fuck they will“ He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out some kind of monocle that he used to have a closer look at the details.

„They’re fine work. You sure you want me to have them, yeah?“

„I don’t want you to have them sir, I want you to keep them until I’ve paid off my debt“, she reminded him, firmly but not unkindly. „They’re a family heirloom so unless you want to get in trouble with Great Aunt Tilly you better keep them safe and sound, yeah?“

„Heaven forbid I get to experience the wrath of a Great Aunt“ Mr. Solomons jokingly cocked an eyebrow and looked at her for what seemed approximately a century to Lillian. 

„So?“, interrupted Lillian the slowly settling silence and reached out for her cigarette again. 

„So what?“

„So where’s the car, Mr. Solomons?“

„Yeah, right, the car.“ He put the monocle back in his drawer. „OLLIE!“

Gosh, why did he do that? The volume of his voice made Lillian jump in her chair once again, causing the ash of her cigarette to fall to the ground. 

„Yes, Mr. Solomons?“, asked Ollie upon entering.

„Get that damn car outside in the yard“ Then he tossed him the keys, indicating he was no longer needed.

When they heard the rumbling of an engine and the sound of heavy tires in the driveway, they got up and Mr. Solomons held the door open for Lillian. Just like on her last visit, that strangely familiar sweet smell reached her nose when they crossed the hallway that led to the bakery. 

In the yard stood a heavy van of a dirty mud color, the old varnish flaking off in several places to reveal the underlying metal. Someone had roughly painted a logo over, the layers of paint slightly protruding from the rest of the coachwork. It had already seen much better days but Lillian found it absolutely perfect. 

„You know how to drive, yeah?“, asked Mr. Solomons whose face was now mostly hidden by a broad brimmed black hat. 

Lillian cast him a „you must be kidding“-look, then went over to the driver’s cabin to get the keys - her keys - from Ollie and sat down behind the steering wheel. 

Mr. Solomons approached her, eyes and face still covered by the hat.

„Will it do?“

Lillian leaned back in her seat, one arm casually placed on the wound down window.  
„Fuck it will“.

Then she turned on the ignition, put her foot down on the gas pedal a little too fast and drove off with screeching tires.


	10. Chapter 10

Lillian parked the van right outside her office. She had only stalled the engine three times and forgotten to check the side mirrors – well, on most every corner – causing an older lady with her grandson to use words she would certainly not expect from a woman her age. Other than that she was quite content with her driving skills. It was only thanks to Margaret’s husband John that she knew how to drive, or rather how to bumble through the London traffic, at all. He had shown her how the gears worked, where the ignition was and how to balance that one tiny moment of letting go of the clutch and hitting the gas pedal just enough to get the car moving. In return, she had had to promise Margaret to accompany her to one of her communist gatherings. _Gosh, what do I wear?_ , wondered Lillian, slightly worried of exposing herself as a member of the bedevilled bourgeoisie before even opening her mouth.

Upon leaving the driver’s cabin she could already see the girls flattening their noses on the office window so as to catch a glimpse of their company car. Lillian ushered them out, a proud smile on her red lips. Mildred was the first one to open her mouth.

“This is it?” Lillian wasn’t sure what to make of her skeptical facial expression.

“Yeah, I know, I know”, she raised her arms apologetically, “it’s not one of those shiny posh vans you see on the streets these days, ok? But it’s working just fine and I promise you’ll love it. Plus, if either one of us ever manages to get our van here a scratch, you won’t even notice for all the bumps and marks it already has.” She winked at her employees, her smile as broad as ever.

“It’s _wonderful_ , Ms. G!”, exclaimed Ava and peeked through the windshield.

“That’s the spirit”, said Lillian and patted her secretary on the shoulder.

“I’ll show you how to drive that beast first thing in the morning, yeah? I’ll need you to finish your orders before, if tonight or tomorrow at the crack of dawn is up to you. Will that be all right?”

The girls nodded, still inspecting their new vehicle.

“Oh, and if anyone of you knows someone who could maybe paint it over in a colour that doesn’t look like it came straight from Verdun – I’ll be much obliged”

_____________________________________________

Lillian had settled for a dark woolen skirt and her brown tweed jacket accompanied by sturdy winter boots. She was already putting on her pearl earrings when she remembered the insides of a rare seashell turned to fine jewellery might be considered a bit over the top by Margaret’s _comrades._ Lillian combed her dark hair that fell down on her shoulders in delicate water waves into shape, then kissed David and Aunt Tilly goodbye and headed for the nearby rear building that Margaret had described the day before. 

“Margie!”,yelled Lillian from afar upon spotting her friend in a crowd of people outside the house that was the local communist’s headquarter.

“Lillian, good to see you, dear!”, replied Margaret and kissed her friend on both cheeks. She was dressed in trousers, which was a very rare thing to see even in the hubbub of the London East End where all sorts of people mixed.

“Suits you”, acknowledged Lillian and indicated Margaret’s garments. Margaret blushed and fiddled with the straps of her bag: “That’s what John said”.

Then she grabbed Lillian’s arm and dragged her into the crowd of young men and women that were now moving into the house. “You’ll love it”, whispered Margaret into Lillian’s ear.

“Mmph”

“Just wait and see”, replied Margaret and jokingly nudged Lillian in the rips.

For the sake of her good friendship – and for the driving lessons free of charge – Lillian had decided to give this nonsense a chance. She didn’t like to meddle with politics and was rather skeptical with movements that required total unison and conviction for a _common cause_ even if some of their ideals were noble and just. Not to speak of her own monetary and rather selfish ambitions she pursued with GD Ltd. But for the sake of Margaret she was willing to give it a try.

Inside, the house was dimly lit and damp. About 50 chipped wooden chairs had been placed in front of some kind of platform on which a middle-aged and angry-looking man went through a pile of paper that obviously was a speech. Or a manifest. Or whatever those communist folks chose to call it.

Margaret greeted some of her comrades, then pulled Lillian down on a chair in one of the middle rows. She was grateful Margaret hadn’t chosen the rows up front where she might be forced to interact with the orator. Lillian lit herself a cigarette, then crossed and uncrossed her legs, not sure if this was already being too ladylike for a communist gathering. _Oh fuck it_ , she thought, and crossed her legs again, this time with utter ostentation.

When the room was filled and the overall chit chat had ceased, the man on the platform cleared his throat.

“My dear comrades”, he began, looking over the curious crowd, “we have gathered here today to discuss the unworthy working conditions that are imposed on us – the people - by the despicable, exploitive capital.”

Thunderous applause from the crowd. Lillian wondered with what accomplishment this bloke had earned even the slightest clap from any of the auditors. As far as she was concerned this guy was neither charismatic nor very convincing. Only very, very desperate by the look of him.

“We have gathered here today – we, the proletariat of this city – to unite! We have gathered here to –“

Lillian slowly zoned out. She shifted in her very uncomfortable chair and observed the crowd. Most of them looked dirty, worn-out and furious. There were mothers with malnourished babies, widows and war invalids missing legs, arms and a purpose in life, teenagers that were attracted by the powerful atmosphere of the community and even some pretty boring and rather normal looking folks like Margaret. Lillian’s gaze paused at a woman in the second row. She had dark wavy hair just like herself and elegant, slim features. She seemed rather out of place in the midst of people that didn’t know how to make ends meet in her light blue costume with the fur coat but applauded furiously, shouting her approval to what was being said just like all the others around her. As if she’d felt Lillian’s gaze upon her, the woman turned around and looked her in the eye. It was too late to make it appear like Lillian wasn’t staring so that she decided to go for an acknowledging nod. The strange woman smiled, then turned away to yell her agreement to something Karl Marx jr. had said. 

Lillian had mentally pre-planned the upcoming three weeks when the speech finally came to its end.

“Brilliant, right?”, Margaret’s eyes beamed with excitement and her voice was slightly hoarse from all the shouting.

“Yeah….absolutely” Lillian tried very hard to sound like she hadn’t almost fallen asleep.

Leaflets were being handed out and Lillian reluctantly took one of the handouts, quickly stuffing it away into her bag.

“Oh and there’s Ada as well!”, said Margaret, rising from her chair and making attempts to drag Lillian with her. “I’ll introduce you, yeah? She’s marvelous!”

Lillian surrendered to her fate and let her friend push and pull her through the crowd of heated faces.

“Ada, dear. Good to see you!”, announced Margaret herself as they reached the woman in the costume that Lillian had observed before.

“And you, Margaret!”, replied the woman and took Margaret’s hands in her own. Then she turned to address Lillian.

“It’s so good to see new faces. And a friend of Margaret is a friend of mine. I’m Ada Thorne, pleased to meet you.”

“Lillian Goldstein” replied Lillian and shook the woman’s slender hand. Margaret was right, this Ada Thorne _was_ marvelous. There was a natural sophisticated aura about her that strangely enough didn’t oppose her communist attitude.

The two women went into a profound and agitated analysis of Karl Marx jr.’s speech with Lillian adding some “yeah, right”s and “absolutelys”s in the right places. It was a quarter to eleven when Lillian finally managed to excuse herself, stammering incoherent nonsense about having work tomorrow and not wanting to be tired.

On her way home, she stopped at the office to have another proud look at her van. And while her friend Margaret had found purpose in the communist movement, Lillian committed herself fully to her business. This was her cause, and she would do anything to help it thrive.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go again, another Alfie chapter :)  
> And again, thanks to everyone who has left kudos or comments on this work or just follows the story - you guys are amazing!

_Tap, tap, tap_ – the sound of Alfie’s walking stick reverberated with every step he took through the still, his eyes observing the constant to and fro in the dimly lit cellar. There had been some issues with one of his purchasers at Farrington Road – to be more precise, there had been complaints about the deteriorating quality of his rum which was, mildly put, fucking bullshit. Nevertheless, Alfie had come down this morning to have a look at the still and its productions himself. And given the current circumstances he wasn’t opposed to subject one of the finer barrels to a personal quality control either: business these days didn’t quite go as smooth as it used to and he was almost sure his forever frenemy Sabini, that old wop, was behind it. There had been some fighting over the Jewish-Italian borders in the past and Alfie had taken a hard blow by losing the area of said Farrington Road to this sleazy git.

The still generated only a rough 10% of his income, an amount he wouldn’t even have to bat an eyelid for, but he couldn’t let this cock-sucking mongrel interfere with his business or, what was even worse, show _weakness_. Alfie shuddered even at the thought of it. _Big fucks small_ , he used to say, and Alfie usually was the one who fucked, not the one who was fucked. It was about time he restored that balance.

“YOU!”, he bellowed in the direction of one of the new boys he had employed some months ago. The boy gave a jerk and Alfie couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the sight of it. Men were such sensitive wimps these days, it was fucking unbelievable!

“Yes, boss?”, asked the boy who went by the name of Peter if Alfie remembered correctly. He usually did.

“Peter, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Solomons” There was an insecure smile upon the boy’s face as he looked up at his boss, trying to stand his piercing blue gaze.

“So, Peter. Let me ask you something, yeah?” Alfie put a muscular arm on the boy’s shoulder and could feel the boy’s body stiffen under its weight.

“How long have you been working here, my friend? Three months, four months, half a year?”

“Four and a half months, Sir”

“Four and a half months, yeah?”

Peter nodded.

“And in these four and a half months, right, have you noticed any … changes… in our products here?”

The boy shook his head, almost sending his kippa flying. “No, Mr. Solomons, no changes”

Alfie stroked his scruffy beard, the other hand still firmly on Peter’s shoulder. He contemplated the boy’s words for a moment.

“No changes, you say, yeah?”

Peter nodded.

“And how, my friend, can you be so sure of that?” Alfie’s grip on Peter tightened as he turned around to face him directly. “You haven’t _tried_ any of our _bread_ , right? Cause that’s fucking forbidden, mate.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he made the slightest attempt of wiggling out of Alfie’s grip, then quickly realized this would probably only make the situation worse.

“N-no, Sir. Just by the look of it….and the, the smell and all, yeah. Look and smell.”

This time it was Alfie who nodded, biting his lip as if thinking hard.

“And what does this – right now – look and smell like, mate?” Alfie let go of Peter’s shoulder and stepped back.

“I, I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Solomons” Peter cast a helpless look to the rest of the crew that had gathered in the corner.

“Yeah, right mate. Course you don’t” Then he yanked up his fist and smashed it down on the boy’s nose.

“Danger, Peter. This smells like danger”, he said, looking down on his employee who had crashed against one of the barrels. Then he turned on his heel and made back for his office, ushering Ollie to come with him.

Upon entering his office, he went straight for the liquor cart and poured himself a glass. Then he remembered it was probably only just to serve Ollie too, and poured another one for his confidante. They sat down at the desk and Alfie casually put up his legs on the massive wooden table.

“What was that for, boss?”, asked Ollie, sipping on his rum.

Alfie took a clean cloth from his drawer and began wiping away the blood that had sprayed onto his shirt, all the while looking at Ollie.

“That Peter bloke, yeah, was fucking responsible for the batches for Farrington Road, right. And Farrington Road made a fucking complaint last week. Did that twat tell me? No, Ollie, he didn’t, right. That’s why.”

Ollie nodded in approval. He knew Alfie was a fucking brute with a _slight_ inclination towards aggression and brutality, but he usually didn’t let it out on anyone who didn’t deserve it in one way or another.

“I need you to do me a favour, yeah?”, continued Alfie, now with his own drink in hand.

“Sure”, replied Ollie, actually not so sure.

“That old fucker Sabini has fucked us up these past months, mate. I don’t like that, pal. I need you to go check up on the new ones, Ollie. And if anyone’s ratting on us, yeah, you’ll get that fucking double-crossing snitch right here in my office, yeah, and let me deal with him.”

Ollie nodded, took a sip of his rum and opened his mouth, not sure if he should say what he intended to or not. He had this weird feeling Alfie wouldn’t be amused.

“Spit it out, Ollie”, said Alfie, legs still up on the desk.

Ollie shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable.

“What about the delivery girl? Ms. Goldstein?”

Alfie put his glass down so hard the amber liquid spilt over the desk. His body was tense, and his eyes completely void of any recognizable emotion.

“Yeah, her too, Ollie.” Then he reached out for his drink again.


	12. Chapter 12

Lillian had a look at her agenda for the day: six deliveries, four important phone calls, the usual weekly accounting and some shopping for Aunt Tilly at the market. Plus, she was still waiting for the typewriter she had ordered some weeks ago. She ran her fingers through her hair, planning the day in her mind, when the telephone rang.

“Goldstein, GD Ltd?”

“Good morning, Ms. I’m calling on behalf of Smith’s Office Equipment – your typewriter is ready to be picked up. Oh, and I’m seeing here that you’ve changed your method of payment to single payment, is that right?”

“Yes, indeed, Sir.” The recent delivery contract with Mr. Solomons during the past weeks had allowed her to cancel the deposit and monthly instalments and instead pay it off all at once. “But I’m very sorry to say that I’m quite busy today and won’t be able to drive by till tonight actually. Will that be all right?”

“We’re only open till six but I can arrange the typewriter to be kept at our reception for you to pick up.”

“That’d be perfect, thanks!”

Then she hung up and walked into the small backroom, aka kitchen aka storage room. She poured herself a tea and reached out for the biscuit tin.

“Becky, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure, Ms. Anything.”, answered Becky who leaned against the sink, sipping on her own tea before leaving to get the Yavakov delivery done.

“You’ve never been to the Poplar Docks before, right?”

Becky shook her head. Lillian had decided to take care for the Solomons deliveries herself, usually taking Mildred along who was a great help in carrying the flour bags due to her sturdy shape. On a more positive note, she had chosen to be in charge herself because the prospect of seeing Mr. Solomons was one of her little weekly highlights although she’d certainly never admit to it. They’ve sometimes had a drink or just some short but delightfully sarcastic conversation. On the downside, Lillian had grown just a little bit suspicious of Mr. Solomons doings and a whole lot careful in terms of Mr. Isaacs from whom they picked the deliveries up. Lillian was inclined to think there was something off about this bakery – whenever she’d asked for a little tour of the property Mr. Solomons had found a more or less credible reason to avoid showing her around. And this smell … she’d never smelled any bread as sweet as the odor in that bakery before. Concerning Mr. Isaacs, she was _convinced_ he was a degenerate misogynist asshole. That was why she had a bad feeling of letting Becky go there on her own.

“I’m really busy today. Need to get some of this shit done and Mildred’s on leave till Wednesday as one of her boys got the flu. Would you take care of the Solomons order today?”

“Sure, if you’ll explain how to get there. And I’m not such a good driver, you know….”

Lillian put aside her teacup. “You’ll be fine. It’s quite easy actually. There’s just this one bloody sharp turn on the way to Camden, you’ll need to drive slowly there, all right?”

Becky nodded. “All right then, I guess I’ll manage, Ms. G. I’ve got some of Mildred’s other deliveries on my plan today…would it be ok if I got the van back here tomorrow morning? Then I could drive straight home after work.”

Lillian took her hand and squeezed it encouragingly. “Sure. And if Mr. Isaacs, that imbecile idiot, has something to say, yeah, you’ll insist on calling me. Don’t you argue with him yourself, ok?”

“Yes, Sir!” Becky saluted jokingly, then took the keys for the van from the hook at the door and left the office.

_She’s gonna be all right_ , Lillian tried to ease her mind and reached inside the biscuit tin again.

The day dragged by slowly. Lillian engaged herself in paperwork, went for a quick lunch with Ava, then saw to some of the easier deliveries herself. She had an exhausting conversation with Mrs. Green who _once again_ complained about her mushy vegetables, upon which Lillian kindly advised – and successfully convinced her – to maybe try another supplier. It was already dark outside when she got the stack of cash out of her drawer, hopped on the bus and set off to collect her typewriter.

Upon coming back, Lillian found the door of the office unlocked. That was strange, she could have sworn he had locked the door before leaving. She pushed the door open and turned on the light. Everything seemed perfectly in order.

  
“Ava? Becky? ‘sat you?”

No reply. Lillian put the heavy typewriter down on the desk and reached out for the sharp letter opener instead. She felt bloody ridiculous and anyway, who on _earth_ that was in possession of their right senses would break into that tiny rund-down office?! But she needed to make sure.

  
“Hello? Somebody there?”, she called out again. Lillian checked behind the leather chair and in the backroom, fully aware that there was actually no hiding place for anyone taller than a toddler. She even opened the cupboards to make sure nobody had entered the office. Then, suddenly, she panicked and darted for the drawer in her desk where she kept the cashbox. With her heart beating against her chest and trembling hands she opened the box and found – nothing. Every bill and coin she had earned during the last weeks was still there, seemingly untouched. Maybe she had just forgotten to lock the door after all, although this was very much unlike her. But how else could it be, given that nothing in here had been touched? She chose not to tell anyone and blamed this evening’s almost-heart-attack on her own stupidity. Next time she would make extra sure that she locked that bloody door. Still, Lillian just couldn’t get rid of the feeling that someone had been in there. She needed to get out, suddenly longing for home, but at the same time still way too exhilarated to actually go there. Instead, she gathered up her belongings and made for the nearest pub, getting another mini heart attack when the van wasn’t in its usually parking spot and then realizing Becky had taken it for today.

She sat down at the counter and ordered a whiskey while sucking at her third cigarette in a row.

“Sorry, no whiskey today, Ms. But we’ve got some fine as hell rum. Wanna try?”

Lillian shrugged her shoulders. _Whatever_ , she thought, reaching out for the glass that the innkeeper handed her over.

She was already halfway down the sticky, richly spiced liquid, when she suddenly realized its smell was strangely familiar. And it was another glass later when Lillian eventually realized where it was familiar from. She jerked up, every inch of her body tense with excitement. She jammed some coins down on the counter, grabbed her hat and purse and dashed outside. She was lucky, there was a cab on the other side of the road.

“Camden Town”, she said to the driver, then leaned back in her seat, heart once again pounding against her chest.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters a day keep the doctor away, right?  
> So here you go, hope you'll enjoy :)

It was close to eleven when Lillian arrived at the office the next day. It had been a long night and she had a slight headache from the rum. She hadn’t eaten much before and the sweet sticky alcohol still clung to her like a fucking fruit fly. The first thing she noticed upon arriving was that the van was still missing. _Fuck_ , she thought, rushing inside hastily.

The office was empty except for a worried-looking Ava who was doing some bookkeeping in her neat and tidy handwriting.

Lillian threw her woolen coat on her desk and roughly unpinned her hat, leaving some hair to stick out from her bun.

“Where’s Becky?”, she asked without further ado, her gut already telling her that something was off about this. 

“Called in sick today, Ms. G”, Ava looked up from her notebook, obviously feeling uncomfortable. She was the worst liar Lillian had ever encountered and she flinched slightly when Lillian quickly snatched the notebook out of her hands.

“Look at me, Ava”

Ava fiddled around with her glasses, making attempts on cleaning the perfectly unstained glasses.

“I said look at me” Lillian had already been in a bad mood before coming to work caused by what she had found out the night before and Ava avoiding her now wasn’t changing her mood for the better.

Ava looked up, biting her lip.

“What the _hell_ is going on here, Ava? Where’s the damn van and where the _fucking hell_ is Becky?” Ava was already opening her mouth when Lillian cut her off. “And don’t you tell me she called in sick, she was in perfect health when I last saw her yesterday.”

There were tears welling up in Ava’s eyes. Lillian knew she was an honest, kind-hearted soul but this seemed quite a bit over the top even for someone as pure as Ava.

“I’m sorry Ms. G. She’s asked me not to tell you anything bout it.”

_“Bloody hell!”,_ exclaimed Lillian. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

She tried to play it cool, to not show that she was actually really worried about her employee. Lillian inhaled sharply.

“All right. I’m going to sit down right here in front of you, ya?” Lillian slumped down in the leather armchair in the corner of the office, still looking intensely at Ava. “And I’ll not move a bloody inch until you told me what’s going on, ok?”

Ava shook her head, now nervously playing with a thread on her thick cardigan. “I can’t, I promised I wouldn’t tell you”

“What the actual hell?! This is my _fucking_ business, and if there’s anything going on behind my back, that’s more than enough reason to fucking fire the both of you!”

Lillian had gotten up again in her anger, breath shaking heavily and both hands firmly put to her hips. There was silence now in which neither of them seemed to know what to say or how to proceed. Lillian walked up to her desk, grabbed her cigarette case out of her bag, lit herself a cigarette and took a deep, shaky drag of smoke.

“I’m sorry, Ava. That was uncalled for.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and massaged that spot between her brows where rum and worries were causing a worsening and constant pounding headache. Ava wiped away the tears that had streamed down her rosy cheeks.

“I’m just worried, ok? And I’ve a fucking headache and argh it’s just one of these days you’d gladly just cuddle up in a warm blanket, draw the curtains and sleep away all your sorrows, right? So I understand you’ve promised Becky not to tell me anything. Will you just nod then if what I’m saying now is right? Then I’ll go speak to her myself.”

Ava nodded and sniffed loudly, her eyes still suspiciously watery.

“Has this anything to do with Mr. Isaacs, Ava?” Lillian could hear her own voice darken at the mentioning of his name. She’d despised him ever since that day he had so harshly turned her down. And if he’d misbehaved in any way towards Becky she’d make sure he would rue the bloody day he was born.

Ava nodded again. “Yes, Ms. G.”

“Fucking bastard!”, called Lillian out and angrily stuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

“You’re in charge till I come back, yeah?”

Then she hurried out of the office and jumped onto the next bus that took her close enough to Becky’s home.

The girl shared a flat with three others, one of which opened the door for Lillian when she knocked.

“I’m here to see Becky. She there?”

The young and worn-out looking woman balanced a chubby baby on her hip. “And you are?”

“Her boss”

The woman raised an eyebrow but let her in all the same. “Second door on the right”

“Thank you”, said Lillian and jostled inside the narrow hallway. It was dark and obviously damp as the cheap tapestry came rolling down the walls. Lillian knocked on the door the other girl had described her. A muffled “Yeah” came from inside and Lillian entered the room.

Becky was laying on her bed face-down, not even looking up as Lillian cleared her throat. She felt very much out of place, like she was intruding into Becky’s personal space. Perhaps because in fact, she was.

“Becky?”

Lillian had never seen anyone jerk up so quickly as Becky did right now. She was upright in a second, staring at her with widened eyes. “Ms. Goldstein, I…I’m so sorry. I called Ava in the office to let you know I’m sick today. Didn’t she tell you?” Her eyes were swollen and red from all the crying. Lillian could feel another wave of anger rise up inside her. Whatever had this piece of shite done to her?

“May I?”, asked Lillian calmy and indicated the bed. Becky moved over to make space for Lillian to sit.

“You’re not sick, are you?”

Becky looked up at her, a pitiful mess of worry and fear. “Did Ava tell you?”

Lillian shook her head. “Not a word.”

She reached out to take Becky’s hand. “Listen, I’m not mad at you, ok? I’ve already figured this is about the delivery … and Mr. Isaacs. But I need you to tell me what’s happened. Then I’ll see to it that he’ll pay for whatever he’s done. Do you understand?”

Now Becky lost it completely. “I’ve messed it all up Ms. G!”, she sobbed into a handkerchief she’d produced from her dress’s pocket. “I’ve messed it all up. I’m such a deadbeat!”

Lillian squeezed her hand. “What did you mess up?”

Becky blew her nose, leaving it all red. “Everything, Ms. G. Just fire me already, I’m sure you will when I tell you.”

“Nonsense, Becky. Nobody gets fired here, ok? Now take a deep breath and just spill the beans, yeah? ”

Becky did as she was told and Lillian offered her a cigarette which she shyly accepted.

“Thanks, Ms. G”

“So, tell me. What’s the matter?”

Becky inhaled and coughed. She was obviously not a regular smoker.

“I collected the flour just like you said, Ms. G. But the sacks are heavy and I dropped one of them. It was a bloody mess, Ms. G. Flour everywhere. So Mr. Isaacs got all angry and enraged and called me names and that I wasn’t worth a penny you pay me. And I, I really didn’t know what to do so I told him to shut up just like you’d probably do. And everything’s just gotten out of hand, Ms. G. And he, he-“

Becky started crying again uncontrollably, shoulders shaking heavily with every sob.

Lillian waited until she’d regained her composure just enough to go on with her story.

“He was just so furious, Ms. G and he insulted you and the company and said lots of things I’d rather not repeat. Said we’d all be better off in the kitchen and such. And then he just canceled our order and – oh I know how important this deal was for you and I just messed it all up because I didn’t listen to you. Should’ve called you like you said I should.”

Lillian pondered her words for a moment. She had expected the situation to be a lot worse. Sure, the cancellation was a huge blow, but she couldn’t wait to see what Mr. Solomons had to say. After all, Mr. Isaacs was dependent on him.

“Oh Becky!”, Lillian threw her arms around the girl tightly. “You did great!”

Becky struggled out of the tight hug, obviously confused. “What? I mean, beg your pardon, Ms. G?”

“This man is a pain in the ass, he is. You did great on standing up to him. And about the deal, I’ll talk to Mr. Solomons as soon as possible. Nothing’s as bad as it seems, ok? Need to see him on another matter, anyway.”

“So…I’m not getting sacked?”, Becky blew her nose again.

“Hell, no! In fact, I’ll need you right away. Get ready and see to the pending deliveries, all right? I’ll be off to Camden with the van. Let’s see what Mr. fucking Solomons has to say about all this.”

This time it was Becky who reached out for her hand.

“Thank you, Ms. G”

Lillian smiled. In fact, she’d never been prouder of her employees than in this very moment.

Then she got up, spotted the van on the other side of the road and drove off to the _bakery_. She still had a bone to pick with Mr. Solomons and she just couldn’t wait with what outrageous arguments he’d try to wriggle out of the matter this time.


	14. Chapter 14

Alfie was going through some bills of the past month – he definitely needed to beat down the price for those oak barrels he used to store his bread in - when Ollie dashed into the office.

  
“Yeah, Ollie, do come in. No need to knock at all, mate”, he murmured sarcastically without looking up from his paperwork, one hand casually brushing through his beard.

“Sorry, boss. I’m bringing you my report for you know, the new ones”

Alfie paused in his very movement and directed his piercing look at Ollie.

“Sit, will ya?” He indicated the leather chair in front of his desk, jaws visibly clenched.

His confidante did as he was told and thumped into the heavy seat, the leather creaking softly as his weight hit the chair.

Alfie deliberately played with one of his many gold rings, all the while staring at Ollie. Just by the look of him he already knew he was about to bring bad news.

“So what miserable scum’s fucking with me, mph?”, he addressed Ollie, voice still calm but indicating the volcano was about to break out at any time, depending on what he was about to hear now.

“I’ve checked up on all the new ones, just as you asked, boss. That Peter bloke, you know the one with the broken nose yeah, he’s clean. Then there’s David and Charly, they’re clean too, at least in terms of ratting. Charly’s nicked a generous amount of bread though, so I made sure he’d steer clear of our barrels in the future and made him pick up his teeth all by himself afterwards. That’s all for the still, I’d say.”

Alfie had listened carefully with only the sound of his cracking knuckles interrupting Ollie’s words every now and then.

“Good, good” He nodded as if deep in thought. “And the rest?”

Ollie cleared his throat. “As for the suppliers there weren’t any changes recently, so I suppose they’re still all on our side. The Farrington purchasers, though…seems like Sabini’s putting some extra pressure on ‘em to make ‘em end their relations with you, boss. I’ve visited some to remind them where their loyalty lies, I doubt they’re actually wanting to be under Sabini’s command. But I guess we need to fix this in the near future and come up with a solution.”

Ollie paused for a moment.

“Then there’s Ms. Goldstein, boss.”

Alfie’s head jerked up, his jaw clenched so tightly every muscle in his thick neck was standing out. “What about her?” his deep voice was like rumbling thunder and Ollie found he looked remarkably like a tiger just before attacking its prey – ready to kill at any moment.

He swallowed. “Been after her for three days or so. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy to follow that one without getting caught. Busy as a bee, she is, but no suspicious contacts as far as I could see. The other women working for her are usually out and about for deliveries, just that one girl Ava is more like a secretary or somethin’. Was fuckin’ hard to get inside that office unseen but I managed when Ms. Goldstein was out to get a parcel.”

Alfie scoffed, still beaming authority out of every pore and his usual hint of dangerous madness that made Ollie’s neck hair stand on edge. “You broke into her fucking office?”

Ollie had been proud that he’d actually managed to have a look at the documents and files at GD Ltd but his confidence plummeted to an all-time low under the menacing gaze of his boss.

“…yeah?” he confirmed unwillingly, suddenly developing a keen interest for his shoelaces.

“Fucking hell, mate. You better hope she doesn’t find out, yeah?”, grunted Alfie, running his hand down his taut face. “Did you find anything?”

Ollie swallowed again. “No, boss. She’s clean too”

Alfie let out a small breath he hadn’t realized he had held before and hoped Ollie didn’t notice. He hardly dared admit it to himself but the thought of Ms. Goldstein being a spy had made him more furious than was in order for an insignificant business partner. He had _wanted_ her to be clean and had caught himself thinking about how much he would have loathed it to make her pay for her betrayal, to see the horror and pain in her big hazel eyes that he would undoubtedly have caused her. All the better that now he didn’t have to.

“Right, then. That leaves only one on my list.”, whispered Alfie so lowly that Ollie hardly understood a word. It was the literal calm before the storm.

The next moment Alfie had yanked out his gun from his desk drawer and smashed it on the table, eyes all wild, scary and unpredictable. The veins on his hands were standing out and he gritted his teeth, all the more making him seem like a predator just before killing an innocent fluffy rabbit. Only that this rabbit wasn’t fluffy or cute and went by the name of Moishe Isaacs.

“Ollie, get that fucking car out. I’ll make this sodding piece of shite rue the day he was fucking born.”

_______________________________________

Alfie stormed up the metal staircase at the warehouse and ripped the door open so forcefully it was about to unhinge.

“What the hell-“, complained Mr. Isaacs who was busy directing an olive-skinned girl’s head up and down his dick, sitting all comfortably and wide-legged behind his mahogany desk. The girl didn’t stop her sucking movements until Mr. Isaacs pushed her aside gruffly as he saw who had just entered his office.

“M-m-mr. Solomons, Sir. What an honor”, he stammered as he awkwardly scrambled back into his pants, his still very visible erection standing out ridiculously against the soft fabric.

The sound of Alfie cocking and drawing his gun made the young woman shriek in terror.

“You be a good girl and get the fuck out of here, yeah?” Alfie motioned her to get out of the room, gun still pointed at the embarrassed and obviously frightened Mr. Isaacs who tried to cover his erection now by crossing his legs in an even more ridiculous manner.

The girl’s eyes were widened and filled with dread as she gathered up her belongings and dashed outside without looking back.

Alfie slumped down on the chair in front of Mr. Isaacs, finally lowering his gun to playfully cock and uncock the handle, its dangerous _click_ to be the only thing audible for a very long while.

“You know this is the fucking end, yeah?”, said Alfie finally to interrupt the deafening silence.

Mr. Isaacs lifted his frightened gaze from the gun to Alfie’s face, taking up all of the little courage he had left in him.

“You’re not worth the dirt they’ll bury you in, you know? But sadly enough, right, I can’t take that into consideration.”

Mr. Isaacs swallowed hard as the sweat ran down his face and into his widened eyes, causing them to burn madly from the salt.

“Just tell me, _friend_ , what did Sabini, that fucking wop, pay you?”

Mr. Isaac’s eyes automatically wandered off to the door that the girl had left open.

“A fucking _woman_? You’ve betrayed this business, right, and our fucking people, for a fucking Italian cunt?” Alfie had heard enough. He felt the familiar heat of anger rise up in him like an all-consuming wave as he reached over the desk and slammed the gun into Mr. Isaac’s face. Then he walked around the desk to once again smash the heavy metal into his former business partner’s bruised face. Blood and teeth were sent flying and left a morbid artwork on his white linen shirt, to be finished by a good amount of brains when Alfie finally shot the man between the eyes. He wiped his gun clean, grim satisfaction on his face.

Alfie suddenly longed for a hot bath and a glass of rum but knew he’d more than enough work on this desk even without Mr. Isaac’s interruption of his agenda. He’d call for Ollie to delegate some tasks when he came back – only that there was already someone else waiting in his office when he entered. Someone he was usually glad to see but dreaded to face in his current condition. 


	15. Chapter 15

Lillian had been both angry and curious on her way to Camden Town. She still hadn’t had any opportunity to confront Mr. Solomons with the real business behind his _bakery._ The thought that he’d deliberately abstained from letting her in on his actual doings and thereby knowingly involved her in most probably illegal activities made her temper rise more than the illegality itself. She should have trusted her gut feeling when she’d first met the man and found herself wondering if his business was kosher or not. _Men!_ , she thought, and quietly had to admit to herself that she wasn’t only furious but _hurt_ too. How stupid she’d been to actually believe any man - fellow Jew or not – would take a woman seriously! And yet he’d always been quite respectful and professional in their meetings … which obviously was a carefully worn masquerade. _Men!_ , Lillian scowled again and banged her fist on the steering wheel. Nevertheless, she felt curious too of how Mr. Solomons would react to the fact that Mr. Isaacs had canceled their agreement without consulting either of them. All in all, she had a hard time deciding which of the two was the greater git.

Upon arriving – Ollie had told her Mr. Solomons was currently not available which Lillian had straight up ignored – she had made herself comfortable in his office, poured herself a glass of rum (she’d thought about tea as well but came to the conclusion that walking up into the kitchen to brew herself a cuppa _did_ probably exceed her authority) and waited. Just when she was about to go ask Ollie where she could reach Mr. Solomons, the door was ripped open. There he finally was, the winner of the audacious-dunderhead-award of the week, breathing heavily and looking rather unamused. She had already turned around, a carefully reviewed series of insults towards Mr. Solomons in mind, when the words got stuck right in her throat. It took her a moment take the full situation in. She was probably gaping, both Lillian and Mr. Solomons glued to their spots and neither of them saying a word.

Lillian was the first to gather herself again. “ _What on earth?!”_ Lillian jerked up from her leather chair and dashed towards Mr. Solomons, not sure what to do but feeling she had to do _something_. “Are you all right, Mr. Solomons?”

He was still staring at her motionlessly like a giant carved out of stone. Then he shook his head as if to shake himself awake from a very deep slumber. “Yeah, yeah, quite all right, Ms.” He seemed nonplussed, almost as if he didn’t quite understand the question.

Lillian skeptically raised an eyebrow.

“But you’re … hurt” She indicated his blood-stained shirt splattered with god-knows-what other substances. He reeked strangely of iron. “You’re clearly hurt, Mr. Solomons. I’ll take you to the hospital, _right now_!”, she shouted and made attempts of pushing him outside the office when his strong arms stretched out to keep her at bay. Then he chuckled. Wait, what?! This man’s just lost about 10 litres of blood and there he was, standing before her without even the slightest hint of pain on his face and fucking _chuckled_? The chuckle slowly developed into laughter – a genuine goddamn laughter that bubbled up in his broad chest. Lillians concerned face dropped into a scowl. “What on _earth_ is so funny now, Mr. Solomons?! Perhaps I shall take you to the nuthouse instead of the hospital?!”, she snapped at him.

His laughter slowly faded out. “Ms. Goldstein, rest assured that the only thing hurt today is my fucking pride, yeah? And my pride is fucking big enough to cope, innit?”

Lillian felt the sudden urge of throwing something at him that _would_ hurt him after all.

“So it seems, Mr. Solomons”, she hissed at him, still unsure of her next move. For the time being, she felt a cigarette – or cigarettes for that matter - was in order. Mr. Solomons meanwhile stripped himself of his equally stained coat and carelessly threw it over a hook at the door. Then he started cleaning himself up with a cloth he kept in his drawer, not realizing that he straight up exposed his gun to her view. When the ash of Lillian’s cigarette tumbled down upon one of his fine carpets the sizzling smell made him look up at her and caught her staring once again, this time neither angrily nor concerned – just staring.

_“What on earth?”_ , she repeated, suddenly feeling dizzy and thumped down into the leather armchair that welcomed her unsteady body with that already familiar creak.

Mr. Solomons lips twitched suspiciously.

“ _Don’t you dare_!” Lillian pointed a shaking finger at him. “You fucking pinheaded retard! _Don’t – you – dare_ chuckling at me!”

Mr. Solomons raised his hands sarcastically. “My apologies, Ms. Goldstein”

“Fuck your apologies, Mr. Solomons” Lillian stubbed out the remains of her cigarette rather forcefully. As he didn’t seem to react to her, she gulped down some more rum to keep herself from throwing something at him after all. “You would not perhaps do me the kindness of explaining any of _this_ ” Lillian waved her hand at him “would ya?”

Mr. Solomons had taken the bottle from the desk to pour himself a glass of rum too, then chipped some dirt from under his nails. “Dire situations, yeah, call for dire measures” He shrugged his shoulders in a rather carefree manner as if he’d been covered in tomato sauce instead of blood.

Lillian drew a deep, angry breath, clenching her fist around her glass so tightly she expected it to burst any moment. As she was about to let out her rant, Mr. Solomons interrupted her suddenly.

“You’ve made yourself quite at home, yeah? Helping yourself to my rum and all?”

Lillian took another cigarette out of her metal case and swiftly took a drag, eyes still fixed upon the gun in its holster.

“Yeah, Mr. Solomons. _Your_ bloody rum precisely.”, she spat at him.

Mr. Solomons raised his eyebrow in faked surprise. “Whatever do you mean, Ms. Goldstein, mph?”

Lillian’s hands were still shaking violently as she tapped the end of her cigarette off in the ashtray. “Oh, come on, Mr. Solomons. You bloody well know what I’m speaking of.”

Mr. Solomons sipped on his rum, sloshing the liquid about in his mouth, then gulped heavily. “Do I?”

Lillian had to concentrate very hard on staying calm. Who did that bloody fucker he think he was?!

“If not, you’re even more of an idiot than I thought you were. After all, what I deliver is pretty little flour-“ Lillian reached for the glass of rum in front of her and looked at it intently “for such a big _bakery_ , Mr. Solomons.”

“What a smart, smart girl you are. But I’m sure demonstrating your sharp wit, yeah, is not why you’re here accosting me today, innit?”

“ _Accosting you?!_ Gosh, just shut the fuck up already, will ya?” Lillian was _very_ close to lose her temper all over again – but this time out of fury not out of shock.

Mr. Solomons made a pouting face, then directed his full attention to his glass again. Lillian waited for him to say something, _do_ something – but in vain.

“Will you say something today or shall I read your fucking mind, Mr. Solomons?”

“You just told me to – what was it you said – shut the fuck up, didn’t ya?”

Lillian scowled and rolled her eyes. “ _Good Lord_! Right if you won’t open that bloody mouth of yours about your bloody condition, yeah, I’ll head straight on to why I’m actually here, all right?”

“Fire away, Ms. Goldstein. I’m all ears” He then proceeded to remove the holster from his hips and casually placed the gun on the table.

Lillian realized that now was the moment to maybe start being afraid but all she could feel was a huge amount of anger and incredulousness. She smoothed her skirt and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Right, _Mr._ Solomons. Let’s make it plain and simple, right, so that even an imbecile like you can understand me, ok? I fucking know of your fucking rum. And I fucking know that this isn’t a bloody bakery but a goddamn still, right? And due to my sharp wit as you so perfectly put it, I also gather my company and I _might_ get into a whole lotta trouble if anything was to happen yeah?”

Mr. Solomons raised his eyebrows once again. “That’s a whole lot of knowing, Ms. Goldstein. I must say, right, I’m rather impressed”

Lillian scoffed, then sucked at her already crumpled cigarette again. “Spare me your false courtesies, Mr. Solomons. This is no fucking joke, all right? I trusted you, and I trusted this to fucking work, all right? And all you ever did was fucking deceiving me!”

If she hadn’t come to know him as an utter asshole, she would have sworn he appeared hurt for the shortest of moments. “Haven’t you got anything to say?!”, she spat at him.

“That was a mistake, wasn’t it?” Mr. Solomons ran a hand down his face, his fingers resting in his beard and twirling the edges.

“What was a mistake?”, Lillian asked impatiently.

“Trusting me, Ms. Goldstein. Rule number one, yeah, don’t trust me, right? I thought a smart girl like you would have figured that out by herself.”

“Then I’m obviously only half as witty as you thought me to be but still twice as smart as you, _Sir_. Because yes, I did believe in this … cooperation. And in its sincerity and honesty, from _both_ sides. But if even a dumb girl like me can find out about this shady business here, how fucking easy would it be for the fucking police to find out the very same thing, hm?”

“Fair point, Ms. Goldstein.” Mr. Solomons continued stroking and twirling his beard to the point where Lillian would have gladly cut it right off. “But do tell, however did you find out?”

Lillian took the bottle in her hands and uncorked it. “The smell. The fucking smell.” She put the bottle down again with a thump. “Oh, and I broke into your fucking cellar, too” She added indifferently and smiled wickedly.

This time Mr. Solomons truly seemed caught a little off guard. “Well, in that case, right – I’d say we’re even” He held out his hand as if wanting to shake hers to confirm his statement.

Lillian stared at him blankly. “You – WHAT?!”, she screamed. “That was _you!_? You broke into my fucking office? Has it _ever_ crossed your mind – however simple that may be – that breaking into a women’s office at fucking nighttime might not be among the best of ideas?” She had gotten up and smashed the palm of her hand on the desk in anger. Then she proceeded in answering her own question. “No, of course it has not! As if a fucking man would ever think twice about what his actions might do to a woman. You right fucking bastard!”

Now Mr. Solomons seemed rather enraged too. His broad chest heaved up and down heavily, his cold eyes fixed upon Lillian. In fact, he made the exact impression of a bull before killing off the matador. Thank God Lillian didn’t wear anything red today.

Completely lost, Lillian grabbed for yet another cigarette and sat down again, fumbling nervously with her hair. Then she realized something.

“But...what on earth for, Mr. Solomons? In contrast to you, I do not own an illegal rum distillery in my hidden cellar. Care to elaborate?”

He tried to win some time by pouring himself another glass. “Security measures, is all”

“Security measures?” Lillian’s tone made it perfectly clear that she didn’t believe a word he said, not knowing that in his very own interpretation he had said the truth.

Mr. Solomons rolled his eyes theatrically, not saying a single word in reply.

Lillian felt another wave of anger rise up inside her that mixed with her utmost confusion into an emotional cocktail so spicy she might want to order one next time she was out with Margaret.

“Yeah, do go on, Mr. Solomons. Keep rolling your eyes, maybe you’ll find a brain back there!” she hissed at him.

He spun the gun on the table around playfully as if it were a Hanukkah dreidel. “Now you’re being unfair, Ms. Goldstein”, he pouted.

“Me? Unfair?” Lillian crossed and uncrossed her legs in an attempt to keep her from doing things she’d regret afterwards. “You’ve fucking lied to me, Mr. Solomons. That’s not quite what I expect from an associate if we are to continue this relationship.” Then she added in faked surprise: “Only that we’re in fact _not_ going to continue this relationship, Sir. I forgot to tell you, Mr. Isaacs happened to do me the very great favour of fucking cancelling our cooperation. Now isn’t that lovely?”

To her actual and true astonishment, he nodded. “Yeah, I know”

“What!?” Lillian’s probably rather unladylike facial expression demonstrated clearly that she didn’t quite understand him. The cancellation had happened so recently she really hadn’t expected him to know already. But then again, who else did that fucker spy on?!

“Dead men don’t do deals, do they?”, he muttered more to himself than Lillian, still stroking his scruffy beard. It drove her mad to watch his smug demeanour. How could anyone be so fucking hot when covered in blood and beaming at her like the fucking lunatic he probably was? Her own inappropriate thoughts infuriated her even more.

“Dead…men?” She gaped at him, then the gun on the desk, her cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

He patted his gun almost lovingly. “You know, Ms Goldstein, rats, yeah. Rats do belong in the sewage, right? Did him a favour, yeah, of putting him into his natural habitat, didn’t I?”

Now Lillian was frightened, but tried her best not to show a sign of it. A quadrillion questions popped up in her head in milliseconds, all overshadowed by an immense “What the bloody and actual fuck?”- state of mind.

Mr. Solomons did her a big favour by saying something first. “You know, Ms. Goldstein. I am rather disappointed, yeah. The _bread_ of my _bakery_ , right, it gets people fucking drunk, yeah? Doesn’t seem to have that effect on _you._ Makes you fuckin’ angry, I’d say. And I thought rum’s for fun and fucking, innit?”

Now Lillian did lose her temper. All she wanted was to get out or to scream at him and smash his big dunderhead in with her glass. Instead she tried to smile at him as innocently as she could, pressing out the words through gritted teeth.

“Fun and fucking, yeah? You know what? I’ll take the latter.” She made a dramatic pause to let her words sink hin. “Cause _fuck you_ , Mr. Solomons”

Then she stubbed out her cigarette on the leather armrest, scooped up her bag and made for the door. Already pulling the handle down, she turned around once more to address him.

“Just one more thing, Mr. Solomons”

He looked up at her, his face a mask behind which all sorts of emotions boiled up. Mr. Solomons held his glass as tightly as Lillian had minutes before only that his glass _did_ burst.

“You reek” She grimaced at him, then smashed the door shut. Halfway down the staircaise, she turned on her heels and stormed back into the office. Mr. Solomons hadn’t moved an inch, blood dripping down from his hands in which he still held the remains of his glass.

“Oh and before I forget. About that bloody car, yeah, don’t you even think about getting it back, yeah? In fact, it’s quite the opposite of you Mr. Solomons. It’s ugly on the outside but hasn’t let me down so far. _Unlike you_.” She indicated the safe in the corner. “Keep the bloody deposit as a friendly reminder to not behave like an utter arse with your next associate, all right? And now-” she bowed to him mockingly “if you will excuse me, I’ll see myself out and fuck off, yeah?”

Then she shut the door again and left for good. Little did she know that this was only the beginning. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm sorry for not posting in nearly a week. I've had some minor health issues and didn't feel well enough to write a chapter. Here we go again now, hope you'll enjoy :)

Alfie still hadn’t moved an inch minutes after Lillian had left his office. He was quite taken aback by her dramatic outburst – there weren’t many people who dared speaking to him like that … in fact, now that he came to think of it, nobody in their right mind would speak to Alfie Solomons like that. Which left him with exactly two options: this woman was either incredibly reckless or incredibly stupid. “Women”, he sighed, then took another clean cloth from out of his desk drawer and began picking out the shards from the deep, bleeding wound that spread diagonally over his palm. Thick drops of blood emerged from the cut every time he squeezed another tiny piece of glass out of his skin, adding a short intense pain to the otherwise continuous throbbing of his hand. At least the alcohol had probably already disinfected the cut. Alfie had to admit, he was impressed – and furious beyond words. He’d always prided himself on his ability to play with words and had presumed his vocabulary of swear words exceeded those of most other men, but Ms. Goldstein had proven to be quite on par with his skills. She’d literally run him over and left him in the defensive which was something Alfie didn’t appreciate _at all._ And because she was a woman, he couldn’t even stop her violent rant by imprinting the pattern of his gold rings on her face which he’d most certainly done to any male opponent. _Feisty little beast_ , he thought and wound the cloth around his hand to protect the cut from further contamination. That would leave a nasty scar for sure.

He threw the remains of his glass in the bin under his desk, then realized there wasn’t much else to do. She was gone and Alfie did believe she meant what she’d said earlier. And who could blame her? After all, however much it hurt his pride to admit so, she was right about him playing under false pretenses. To make it worse, he’d actually planned on telling her the truth and offering her a more serious deal after what Ollie had reported about her. She’d been a reliable associate during the past months, she was fun company in his otherwise rather monotonous days and she definitely knew what she wanted. An ambitious, witty and loyal partner that was still unknown to his enemies was all he needed to turn the tide on the Jewish-Italian war and now that he’d finally been lucky enough to get his wish granted, he’d fucked it up all by himself. _Well done Alfie, well done,_ he applauded himself and tried to keep his injured hand busy enough to better ignore the constant throbbing. When Mr. Isaacs, may God have mercy on his filthy soul and send him anywhere but heaven, had first told him about GD Ltd. he could scarcely believe an all-women’s business was even possible. Then he’d been proven wrong by Ms Goldstein’s evident success and when he’d offered her the delivery deal, he’d not only done so for his own future good but also because he felt her cause deserved some support. Jews were a minority in this country and even more so in business. A Jewish woman – and a successful one at that – was therefore a minority in the minority and deserved some respect just for standing her ground. Alfie had a soft spot for his people and he secretly admired the strength and the courage it took for a woman to be independent in this patriarchal society – even if he gladly took advantage of the virtues a pair of balls enabled you with in this world himself. Well he’d certainly not done his best to demonstrate his attitude with Ms. Goldstein. Anyways, it was much too late now to undo his decisions and he’d more than enough on his plate without Ms. Goldstein adding some extra trouble to it. First, he needed to find an adequate substitute for Mr. Isaacs - that sodding piece of shite. And quickly at that, because he not only supplied the flour he needed to keep the actual bakery in his place running but also because he was the distributor for most of his London rum deliveries. He needed to get this in order as soon as possible and eliminate any connections to Sabini on the way. At this point, Alfie was convinced the complaints from Farrington Road had something do to with Mr. Isaac’s two-sided games. Then he’d send Ollie to go check on this Italian whore that was so thoroughly engaged with Mr. Isaac’s lap when he’d entered his office. Alfie didn’t approve of killing women but was left with no other choice if that girl turned out to be an informant for Sabini. Only then could he make an attempt of reaching out to Ms. Goldstein again. Alfie Solomons didn’t beg for anyone’s favours but he’d be an idiot to let this chance pass for vanity and false pride. It was about time he taught Darby Sabini some manners but yes for fuck’s sake he needed some assistance with it if his actions were to go unnoticed. Thinking of all the sweet, sweet ways to go at Sabini, Alfie realized something that immediately tied his intestines into a knot: what if Sabini already _knew_ of Ms Goldstein? What if Mr. Isaac’s had mentioned her as his latest associate? However ridiculous he was, Darby Sabini was no fool. If he’d somehow learned about Ms. Goldstein’s existence, he would certainly not hesitate to remove her from the scenery before she could even make so much as a move. Just as any businessman, Sabini kept to the motto of “better safe than sorry” which meant that Alfie had to act _now_. Just as he hastily grabbed his hat and coat, Ollie rushed into the office, seemingly out of breath. “There’s been an explosion at Farrington Road, boss”

_________________________________________________________

The warm water of the bathtub welcomed her home like a liquid and rather bubbly form of heaven. Just as if she’d read her mind, Aunt Tilly had prepared her a hot bath by heating up countless buckets of water and pouring them into the iron tub in the bathroom. Then Lillian realized it was Shabbat and she’d promised her aunt to be home this week and not work extra hours in the office like most other Fridays. She’d driven straight home after her horrific meeting with Mr. Solomons, only stopping by the office to tell the girls they were dismissed for the day if no urgent deliveries were pending. Lillian had taken the sponge and rubbed her skin so roughly it changed into a lobster colour. When every little part of her body felt so clean it already hurt, Lillian finally relaxed a little and tried to get a grip on what actually had happened that day. She’d entered Mr. Solomon’s office feeling furious and disappointed and came back out devastated and straight up shocked. The East End was certainly not the safest of neighbourhoods but she’d never seen an actual gun so close if not on police officers. The sharp iron smell of blood still clung to Lillian’s nose despite her aggressive attempts of washing it away and she’d had to suppress the urge to vomit more than just once. Who on earth was this man? There was certainly no doubt that he was engaged in criminal activities but running a secret still in your bakery was one thing – shooting people and admitting so without the slightest sign of remorse was quite another matter. Maybe she was even next on his list if she didn’t do as she was told? But what made Lillian even more uncomfortable than the rest, was that she was still oddly fascinated by Mr. Solomons. And unlike quitting the deal and any further relations, Lillian could hardly escape her own mind that subconsciously still reminisced about how handsome he’d looked and how captivating his mere presence felt to her. Despite his brutality and the clear madness in his eyes as he’d toyed with his gun on the desk, Lillian couldn’t keep her brain from creating very inappropriate images. She could feel her nipples stiffen – and not from the temperature – and scolded herself for even thinking about this horrible person anymore. Plus, she also slightly pitied the man. She’d let out all her anger at him that had accumulated into a volcano-like eruption, all her fury about men and their way of thinking. He’d certainly deserved a blowup but maybe, just maybe she should have skimped a little more on her use of insults. The fact that he hadn’t shot her there and then could only mean that he’d been either very much surprised or secretly felt he deserved her scolding. The latter sent a grim smile over her face. Self-righteous prat! And anyways, what did it all matter now? She couldn’t imagine taking up business again after her outburst and his lack of honesty had so dramatically compromised their relation. She could only hope to make another deal soon that would equal the salary Mr. Solomons had paid and that he would leave her the fuck alone. Still feeling uncomfortable, the risk of him going after her looming over her mood like a great beastly shadow, Lillian stepped out of the bathtub and readied herself for Shabbat.

The day of rest had done her good, although she never felt completely at ease. But Lillian had come to the conclusion that she wouldn’t feel fully at ease for yet some time to come and that she should give herself some time to process all that had happened. So when she received a phone call from her friend Margaret inviting her to a gathering with some of her communist girlfriends ( _No Lillian, not a speech. It’s just some girls with a common mindset meeting for a drink! And there’s someone who’d like to talk to you_ ) Lillian gladly accepted to distract herself a little from her emotions. Despite the risk of looking like an elevated bourgeoise fuck, Lillian went for a black beaded dress, a full make-up and heels that added an extra 10cm to her height. Feeling all the much better, she kissed Aunt Tilly and David goodbye and took a cab to Margaret’s home. Upon entering the apartment Lillian was greeted by a literally breathtaking cloud of thick smoke, upbeat Jazz music and a bunch of female laughter. Adding her part to the blatant air pollution Lillian sat down with the others and let Margaret pour her a drink. She was already slightly drunk and comfortably warm and dizzy when the door opened and Ada Thorne entered the stage – ever so neatly dressed and beaming at Lillian as she placed two red-lipped kisses on her cheeks.


	17. Chapter 17

The evening had been fun. Sure, there were some anti-capitalist remarks of how the upper class exploited the people which Lillian had paid as little attention to as possible but all in all Lillian had had a blast. There had been a lot of dancing and laughing and gossiping and drinking that had made her forget her troubled situation for some time. Also, Ada Thorne had approached her, congratulating Lillian on her well-established business – little did she know of the recent events – and asking if she could drop by the office the other week for a little tour of the “stronghold of the female labouring force” as she’d put it. Lillian didn’t quite know what to think of the tall, elegant woman yet but Margaret seemed fond enough of her so that Lillian had found herself agreeing to Ada’s suggestion. She’d told her to bring sturdy footwear if she were to accompany some of the girl’s deliveries and had given her the address and a time before leaving the party.

Monday morning came all too quickly. After putting on some light make-up so as to cover up the still visible circles under her eyes that the night out had left her with and donning a woolen plaid dress, Lillian prepared some tea and porridge in the kitchen and went to fetch the daily news from the street vendor at the corner. Although Aunt Tilly claimed that working kept her hands busy and her mind distracted, Lillian had noticed that age was leaving its unavoidable marks on the elderly woman. Deep inside she knew that she needed to find a solution for the family sooner or later as Tilly clearly couldn’t care for the apartment and her brother David forever. In fact, before long, the kind woman would be in need of care herself and Lillian knew all too well that she neither had the time to do so herself nor the financial means to hire a professional or pay for a nursing home. And while she felt invincible some days when business went smoothly and everyone was content and happy, Lillian had cursed her decision of burdening herself with so much responsibility next to the one she already had at home multiple times already. But quitting was not an option, not now that she finally was her own boss. She quickly gulped down a small breakfast, then went outside and made for the office. Upon arriving, Ava greeted her with another cup of tea and the very welcome news that Mrs. my-vegetables-are-all-mushy Green had called to let them know she was finally content with her supplier now and would like to add another weekly delivery to the one she already received.

“Check Becky’s schedule for capacity, will ya? Then I’ll speak to Mrs. Green as to the conditions. And I’ll need to talk to the lot of you sometime soon, you know … the Camden deal. Set up a short meeting with the others, let’s say, for Wednesday, right?” Lillian gave her some time to write down her orders and wriggled out of her coat and gloves. Although spring was already on its way, it was still freezing cold and damp in the mornings. “And Ava?” Her secretary looked up from her paperwork. “We’ll have a visitor today. Ms. Ada Thorne will be joining us at 11. She’ll be wanting some impressions of how we work and what we do. She seems like an honest person but she’s also a fucking Commie and you know what I think of those. No private information on anyone, all right?”

“Sure, Ms. G”, replied Ava then turned to have a look at the girl’s schedules on the pinboard behind her. “Shall I set her up with Mildred? She’s in charge of Yavakov and the Harrington’s today, that way she’ll get to see both Jewish business and Non-Jewish deliveries.” Lillian walked over to the board herself and checked for other possible solutions. “Let her go to the Harrington’s together but I’ll see to Mr. Yavakov myself today. And I’ll take the van. You can tell Mildred she can use the time to get some fresh paper for our typewriter and pay our phone bill on the way, ok? Money’s in the biscuit tin in the kitchen.”

Then Lillian sat down behind her own desk and set up some rough calculations and plans for the upcoming time she’d had to manage without the generous salary from the _bakery_. Ada Thorne arrived at 11 sharp, dressed in a black coat with fur linings and a silk skirt that reeked of money and haute couture and most definitely not of the dire needs of the working class she claimed she was part of. Something in the appearance of that woman startled Lillian and it wasn’t only the strange contradiction of style and political beliefs. “Good Morning, Ada.”, she greeted her guest in a welcoming gesture and walked up to her to take her hat and coat. “Do sit down, I’ll get some tea ready, all right?” Ada nodded and made herself comfortable in the seat in front of Lillian’s desk. When Lillian came back with a cup of tea in her hands, Ada and her almost-namesake Ava were already engaged in conversation.

“I see, you’ve already introduced yourselves, so I can skip that part”, she said firmly but not unkindly as she sat down behind her desk. “There are two other girls working here, Becky and Mildred, you’ll meet Mildred later for a tour. Ava here is responsible for most of the paperwork like accounting and setting up weekly schedules for our clients, but she does some delivering as well. Becky and Mildred are both full-time deliverers. I’m responsible for all the rest, the official stuff you know and also making the deals and finding new clients.”

“And your clients, are they all female, too?”, asked Ada, genuinely interested.

Lillian shook her head and placed the cup of tea in front of her visitor.

“No, we’ve got all sorts of clients. Private family’s homes, restaurants and shops mostly. I don’t care about their gender as long as they pay on time and respect the girls.”

Ada smiled, then reached for Lillian’s cigarette case that lay on the table. “May I?”

“Sure”, she replied and pushed the case in Ada’s direction. Then she lit herself a cigarette as well.

“You know, it’s really hard to be an independent woman in this society. I’m all on my own here in London with my little Karl, he’s only 2. That’s how I realized how fucked we women really are when we lack a man’s support.”

Lillian nodded in approval and cocked her head, listening carefully to what the other woman had to say. “What do _you_ do for a living, Ada? I really appreciate your interest in GD Ltd, I really do. But if you’ve come to ask for a job, I’m incredibly sorry to tell you I don’t have the means to employ anyone right now.” Even if she’d wanted to help Ada out, of which she still wasn’t so sure at the moment, what she said was true: she hadn’t got the money to pay for another employee.

Ada tapped of the ash of her cigarette in the ashtray, then took a sip of her tea. “I have some rooms for rent that I give out to fellow comrades and their families at a reasonable price. And I also teach women how to read and write at our community centre. That’s enough to get me and my Karl through the month. In fact, my family’s rather privileged I’d say but I don’t support their way of living. That’s why I’ve cut ties and make me own way here in London now. The truth is, I’ve come here to offer you a deal.”

Lillian had expected anything but this. Confused, she leaned back in her chair and ran a hand through her hair. Then she turned to face Ava. “Ava, dear, would you go get some tea? There’s not much left in the kitchen”

Ava reached down to open her desk drawer. “I’ve bought some last week, Ms. G. Here, look.” She grabbed an unopened packet of tea from out of the drawer so as to prove what she’d said.

Lillian raised an eyebrow. “How very kind of you, Ava. Then go get some fresh milk, will ya? The one we have seems spoilt, dear.”

Ava still didn’t seem to understand Lillian’s hint and was already opening her mouth to say something, when Ada interrupted her. “I hope it’s not too much to ask for, but I’m out of cigarettes. Would you get me some on the way?”

Clearly Ava couldn’t know if that was true so that she finally took her coat from the hook and some coins from the biscuit tin and left the office.

Lillian smiled mischievously at Ada. “Thanks”

“Anytime” Ada smiled back at her.

Then Lillian leaned forward, put both her elbows on the desk, folded her hands and placed her chin on top of them.

“A deal, Ada?”

Her guest nodded. “Really Lillian, I think it’s wonderful what you do. And like I said I’m trying to use my family’s means to help others who are less fortunate than me. I’ve recently received some money that I’d like to invest in something …. meaningful. And then Margaret told me of your business and honestly I was quite impressed.”

Lillian felt flattered and underestimated at the same time. Despite having a common friend, she hardly knew Ada Thorne. Sure, she seemed like a good person, her dedication to feminist work seemed genuine and Lillian greatly appreciated her honesty that finally explained how a passionate communist was still able to afford a wardrobe like _that_ without being an exploiter herself …. but she didn’t feel comfortable accepting money like she was in need of charity.

“Ada, I’m glad to hear you like what I do – what we do – but you do know I’m not a Communist, right?”

Again, Ada took a sip from her cup and pondered Lillian’s words for a moment. “Margaret told me as much. The thing is, what matters for me is what you do, not who you are. And I couldn’t think of a better investment than your business, Lillian.”

Lillian let out a sharp breath. This sure was tempting but Lillian didn’t belief in altruistic charity, most especially not from someone she barely knew. Investments like that didn’t just come without their conditions.

“Listen, Ada. I’m very flattered that you thought of me for your … _investment_. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll show you around the business, take you to some deliveries. That way you’ll get an honest impression of our work, right? If you still think you want to invest in GD Ltd., right, we’ll sit down to figure something out. But I won’t accept any money, that much I can tell you straight away. It’s not that I mistrust you, it’s just that I want to manage this by myself and I don’t fancy the idea of being in someone’s debt even if you don’t expect anything back. What do you say?”

Ada’s facial expression had changed from enthusiastic to skeptical to enthusiastic again. She stubbed out her cigarette, then leaned over the desk to take Lillian’s hand. “I think that sounds like a perfect plan”

Seven hours and a lunch later Ada was still convinced of her investment in GD Ltd. She’d even proposed some ways of investment that didn’t directly involve the transferal of money but still didn’t convince Lillian entirely. She felt bad rejecting Ada’s kindly-meant offer so directly but felt she should stay true to her own feelings as well. Just as the conversation was about to turn into a dead-end, Lillian finally came up with an idea that suited both of them.

“I’ll talk to the girls first thing in the morning, ok? If they agree, we can set up a contract.”

Ada seemed pleased at the prospect of their almost finished deal. “Sure, just give me a call, dear. I’ll be waiting”

Then both women shook each other’s hands and went their separate ways.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 2000 hits guys! Thanks to each and everyone of you for reading, leaving kudos and writing comments :)

Lillian woke early the next day. The combination of going to bed late, overthinking Ada’s investment like a billion times and waking at the crack of dawn didn’t exactly fuel up her morning spirits. She’d talked the deal over with Aunt Tilly who shared Lillian’s reluctancy of accepting money but had encouraged her that the deal as it was going to be sounded very much solid. She’d also phoned Margaret to check on Ada’s credibility and had been assured that Ms. Thorne was a dependable and trustworthy person that always kept her word. Lillian was still slightly skeptical as to why on bloody earth anyone she’d hardly knew should decide to invest money in a small business like hers, but she needed some support after the Camden deal had burst like a soap bubble and with it her confidence in the future. Being quite frank to herself, Lillian was in no position of arguing and Margaret had assured her Ada was a good person. And anyways, how bad could it possibly be? Lillian scoffed, remembering thinking the exact same words some weeks ago after closing the deal with Mr. Solomons and being proven very much wrong shortly after. Well, the chance of getting herself involved in yet another illicit business was practically zero, so she’d probably do best to forget about her doubts and just be as happy and grateful as she was supposed to be. Dressed in a chestnut ensemble in the low-waisted fashion of the 20s and her woolen coat Lillian set off for the office. She needed to be there early if she wanted to catch all three of the girls before leaving for their first deliveries of the day. On her way she grabbed some sandwiches and a bottle of cheap champagne to mark the occasion and a new chapter of GD Ltd. The office was still dark when Lillian arrived. She unlocked the door, lit herself a cigarette and waited. She’d barely had enough time to plan the day when Ava opened the door, a look of surprise on her face. “Good morning, Ms. G. Already there?”

“You know, the early bird…”, replied Lillian and smiled at her secretary, offering her a cigarette and fire.

Shortly after, Mildred and Becky arrived, red-faced and all snuggled up in heavy winter coats to avoid the cold creeping in on them while being outside. Lillian greeted them warmly, then made them sit down in the small office room.

“Ladies, I’ve an announcement to make. That is if you want to hear about it, ‘cause it’s involving all of you directly.”

Lillian looked in expectant, nodding faces. “All right then. You sure remember Ms. Ada Thorne that visited us yesterday, don’t you? She’s a friend of a friend of mine and very much dedicated to supporting women and female entrepreneurship. But before I go on, I’d like to hear your opinions of her. How’s your impression? Did you feel at ease around her?”

As nobody seemed to make the first move Lillian addressed the girls directly. “Mildred?”

The broad woman with the visible veins on her cheeks and the dark blond hair that always appeared slightly dirty cleared her throat. “Pardon me Ms. G, but she seems like a bloody toff, that one. But a nice one, I gotta admit. You know, she’s all fancy and dolled up but helped me carry the crates and boxes all the same. So, yeah, she’s all right, I’d say.”

The other girls nodded in approval.

“I liked her.”, said Ava. “Seems like a good person. Sure she’s a Commie – but better left than right I’d say.”

Again, the others murmured in agreement.

Lillian got up from behind her desk, walked around it and leaned casually against it with her hip. Reaching for another cigarette, she smiled at the girls.

“Glad to hear that, girls. That’s because Ms. Thorne has come here to offer me an investment. I turned down the money itself because as you all know I take some pride in my independence, but we’ve come up with a solution that might suit all of us – especially you.”

Lillian took a drag from her cigarette, clearly enjoying the way the other girls were waiting for her to spill the beans.

“Well, we’ve sat down to figure out something that’ll do us all good. Long story short, Ms. Thorne isn’t only a Communist, she’s also a landlord …. umm lady. She’s got some fine apartments here in London which she’s giving out to her comrades. Gathering that you don’t want to live with the Marxists, I’ve suggested she rent a fine apartment for you in the vicinity of the office. That way you’ll save yourself the rent for whatever ramshackle rooms you pay for at the moment, there’ll be running water and electricity and each of you’ll have their own room. With any luck, there’ll even be a separate room for the boys, Mildred.”

Lillian had watched their jaws drop collectively at the prospect of moving into a new home – free of charge. Nobody seemed to know what to say though, so Lillian continued her explanation eagerly. Having not been completely convinced before, the sight of her employee’s incredulous faces had definitely contributed to her feeling more reassured of the deal.

“On the other hand though, you all know that the Camden deal’s done for, yeah? There’ll be no income from Mr. Solomon’s side anymore which leaves me with no other option than cutting your wages for the time being. Since you’ll pay no rent anymore, I figured that’d be fine for some time until we’ll close another big deal, ok?”

The girls were still listening intently to every word she said, despite their expressions being just a little less enthusiastic than only seconds before. Lillian knew they were all dying to ask one significant question but could literally feel their timidity to come forth with it. She couldn’t blame them.

“I know what you’re thinking, girls. And honestly, I wasn’t quite convinced of Ms. Thorne’s generous offer just for the sake of benevolence either. That’s why she agreed to set up a contract, stating exactly our terms and conditions for the deal. I don’t want her meddling with our affairs in any way. She’s just not into it and I sure as hell don’t want no socialist committee to fuck up our ways of business, all right? The only thing she’s asking for is that I employ one of her students from their community centre – she’s teaching girls to read and write, you know. Ada - I mean Ms. Thorne, that is - claims she’s an ambitious hard-working type that’s easy to get along with. And she has a little daughter, both of them would move in with you in said apartment. I think that’s fair enough, what do you say?”

Still nobody dared say so much as a word. Lillian let out a breath. “Right then, I’ll leave you to discuss the matter for, let’s say fifteen minutes, yeah? I’ll get that letter to the post office and when I come back, I’ll need an answer. Don’t be shy to object, though, you know I value your opinions.”

When Lillian came back, Mildred, Becky and Ava were already waiting for her return.

“So, what do you say?”

Mildred stepped forward, her big hands on her hips and a broad smile on her face. “We say that’s a fucking good plan”

Then Lillian pushed past her to enter the backroom and opened the bottle of champagne, sending the cork flying.

  
“To your new home!” She raised the bottle and took a long sip, then passed it on to Ava next to her.

“To our new home!”, replied the girls in unison and hugged each other tightly. Then the girls left the empty bottle on the desk and the office slightly drunk, and Lillian finally felt that she’d made the right decision in accepting Ada’s investment. Living conditions were fucked up in London and if she could help the girls find better housing, the deal was already much worth it. She grabbed one of the sandwiches from the tray in the kitchen and dialed Ada’s number.

“Yes?”, came the instant reply from the other end. Upon hearing a male voice though, Lillian reached out for the slip of paper that Ada had scribbled her number down upon to make sure she’d made no mistake.

“Hello? This is Lillian Goldstein …. umm, I’d like to speak to Ada?”

“Are you a friend of Ada’s?” Lillian was startled. Ada hadn’t mentioned she lived with a man other than her son Karl and the voice on the other end of the line sure didn’t sound like a two-years-old. 

“Not exactly, no. I mean, yes, kind of …. but primarily we’re partners.”

When Lillian was about to check if the man had hung up on her, he finally replied in his soft but very intense voice.

“Partners? Like in business partners?”

“Something like that, yeah. But would it be possible that I speak to Ada now?” Lillian was slowly losing her patience with that ominous guy with the sexy voice.

“She’s on her way. It was a pleasure talking to you, Ms….Goldstein”

“Yeah, thanks. And to you, Mr….?”

But before she could say his name, Lillian could hear the phone being handed over and a door being closed.

“Lillian? Gosh, I’m so sorry, my brother keeps thinking just because it’s his apartment I’m living in he can just behave like a fucking git.”

“’s all right, Ada. Can you talk? Or shall I call some other time?”

“Is this about our meeting yesterday, dear?”

“Yeah, it is”

“Then fire away, I can’t wait to hear your decision, dear”

Lillian drew breath. This was the last possibility to decline Ada’s offer. But what for? The girls had been over the moon at the prospect of a new home. How could she turn them down just for the irrational fear of getting herself involved in something strange all over again? 

“I’m in, Ada. And I want to thank you on behalf of the girls, really, they’re thrilled.”

When Ada replied, Lillian could almost hear her smiling.

“That’s fantastic, Lillian! Do tell me, when can we meet to get the official things done? And would it be all right if I sent Martha around this week? You know, for them to get acquainted and everything.”

“Sure, just call me, when you’ve decided on a day. About the contract, what about next Monday?”

Lillian heard Ada shuffle around, probably to get her calendar.

“That should be all right, dear. I’ll let you know when exactly. See you, then.”

“See you, Ada. And thanks again, it truly means a lot to me.”

Now it was done and there was no turning back. But again, what for? Everything seemed to be perfectly in order and Lillian trusted her friend Margaret’s opinion on people. She was usually right about their character. More than once she had saved Lillian from falling for the wrong type of guy.

Just as Lillian finished her sandwich and reached out for the phone again to arrange a meeting with a local painter to get the varnish of the van done, the door of the office opened again and no other than Ollie from the _bakery_ stepped in.

Lillian sighed and put the phone down again, eyebrows raised in icy anticipation and eyes searching for a possible gun beneath his coat.

“Ollie! What are you doing here?”

“Ms. Goldstein, sorry to disturb you. Mr. Solomons sends me with –“

“I don’t fucking care what Mr. Solomons sends you with, Ollie. And I thought we’d agreed on calling me Lillian. Just because your boss is a fucking bastard doesn’t mean we’re on bad terms too, ok?”

“Right, then…Lillian. Mr. Solomons wants to know –“

“Mr. Solomons wants to know if I’ve thought my decision over, yeah?” Lillian scowled and hit her palm flat on the desk. “For fuck’s sake, Ollie. The audacity! Go tell your boss, yeah, that he must be as bright as a black hole and about twice as dense to fucking send you here, all right? And that I don’t want to hear another word from him and that I cannot ever be so short on my _dough_ – no pun intended – to ever consider business with him again, yeah? Besides, he should have had the balls to come here himself instead of sending his lap dog - sorry, Ollie. And now – fuck off, dear” She smiled at him innocently and reached for the phone again.

Ollie raised his hands in playful excuse, but Lillian felt that he meant what he was going to say.

“You know Ms – Lillian, I mean – you’re the only one who’s ever stood up to him like that, that he’s still willing to talk to. And that’s still alive.” Then he turned on his heels and left the office.

If that was supposed to be another compliment, she could bloody well do without it.


	19. Chapter 19

“And then she told me to …umm” Ollie scratched his head nervously.

“Spit it out, Ollie”, replied Alfie, feet up on his desk and arms crossed behind his neck. He'd been waiting all week for a detailed report of Ollie's visit at GD Ltd after he'd send him by to check on Ms. Goldstein. 

“She told me to tell you that you’re as bright as a black hole and twice as dense to send me there and that she couldn’t ever be so short on her dough – no pun intended – to consider business with you again” He swallowed audibly, secretly fearing another of Alfie Solomon’s famous outbreaks. His face went blank as his boss began coughing violently. Then he realized that Alfie was in fact not coughing – but _laughing_. A genuine, heartfelt laughter bubbled up from his boss’s chest that left Ollie in a very awkward position of either joining his laughter which would make him seem rather foolish or just standing there in silence, making a fool of himself all the same.

Alfie’s laughter slowly faded out and he wiped non-existent tears from the corner of his bluish-grey eyes. “That’s what she said?” He put his feet down and began twirling his freshly trimmed beard. “The fucking balls on that one, I tell ya”

As if somebody had flipped a switch on him, Alfie’s mood changed from amused to dead-serious in a split second. “Did you set up the fund for Mrs. Weinstein, Ollie?”

“Yes, boss. Just like you said. I’ve also tracked down that Italian shikse and slipped her some bills. Don’t think she’ll talk, boss.”

Alfie had listened intently, fingers still engaged with his beard, head cocked slightly to the side. “All right, all right. That’ll be all, Ollie.” He waved his hand at him dismissingly like only a man of his position could do without looking like a poor impersonator of the King.

Ollie turned to leave as Alfie cleared his throat once more. “Actually, that’s not all, Ollie. You’ll go get me a nice box, yeah. A nice fancy box, right, and then you’ll go stuff it with some cakes and biscuits and what not” He cast his confidante a glance from under his bushy eyebrows. “Don’t you want to write that down?” Ollie jerked up from his trancelike state caused by the sudden notion of his boss and grabbed a pen and paper from the desk. “You write that down, yeah? A nice fancy box - and don’t you skimp on the fucking box mate – filled with our finest pastries. And then you’ll get me a nice bottle of rum, let’s say the 1919 batch yeah, and put a nice fucking bow ‘round it, right?”

Ollie couldn’t help but stare at his boss. Was he out of his fucking mind?

“What are you fucking waiting for? Off you go, mate, off you go”, said Alfie and shooed him out of the office.

After he’d left, Alfie let out a deep sigh as he flopped down in his comfortable leather chair that had over the years adjusted its forms perfectly to his body shape. He stretched his injured hand and grunted in pain as he could feel the raw edges of the cut being pulled apart. Carefully, he removed the already stained cloth and bit his lip at the sight of the swollen red flesh that oozed with liquid. “Fuck off”, he sighed and fumbled another bandage from out of his drawer. The hot bath he’d been longing for ever since the incident at the Poplar Docks had still not come to pass and Alfie felt like he was in dire need of a barrel of rum, two full days of sleep or a good fight – not necessarily in that order. After Ms. Goldstein had left his office so dramatically and Ollie had informed him of the explosion at Farrington Road he’d barely had a minute to catch breath. The fear of Sabini coming after Ms. Goldstein painfully present in the back of his mind, he’d driven straight for the pub that had been blown up by those godforsaken Italians. The “Red Lion” had been in ruins upon his arrival and with it the lives of the innkeeper’s wife Mrs. Weinstein and three other women unknown to Alfie who’d been deprived of their loving husbands and sons. Alfie had called for some blokes to clean up the debris and for a mortician to take care of the dead men’s bodies. He’d made sure the families of the three victims – two Jewish, one Gentile – were being sent a generous monetary compensation and he’d visited Mrs. Weinstein personally at her home as was the Jewish custom. He’d promised her a monthly pension and patted some backs here and there, all the while swelling up with cold fury. Poor bloke had done nothing wrong except owning a pub at the border of some fucking imaginary territory marked by men he barely knew. All the more did it matter now that he could convince Ms. Goldstein to get back in business with him. He’d been relieved more than he liked to admit when Ollie had told him she was in perfect health and as loud-mouthed as ever. Despite him not being able to check on her himself due to the sudden circumstances he had sent Ollie over just for the sake of knowing she was all right. Sure, there still was the risk of Sabini - that slimy fuck -using her for his own purposes now but he would go check on that later on. That was, if she actually agreed to his suggestion in the first place, which he bloody well hoped she would. That one would be a goddamn asset! _Bright as a black hole and twice as dense_ , he chuckled, then pulled his hat over his eyes and tried to catch up on some sleep as Ollie ran his errands.


	20. Chapter 20

Lillian reached out for her cigarette case. The cigarette between her red lips, she smoothed out the fabric of her black silk skirt. To honor the occasion of signing the investment contract, Lillian had used up most of her personal savings to treat herself with some fine new attire consisting of the skirt and a matching thick black and white cardigan – Chanel style, East End price. After meeting Martha and finding her to be suitable enough for the work at GD Ltd and amiable enough to let her live with the other girls, Lillian had sat down with Ada this morning to discuss final matters like the moving date and signed the contract that Ada’s lawyer hat set up. Lillian had double-checked there was no hidden small print entitling Ada to meddle with internal business affairs and had found nothing of the sort. It really took a load off her mind to know the girls would be safe and sound in their new apartment and to be able to cut their wages without having to feel guilty about it now. After giving it some more thought, Lillian had finally come to the conclusion that there was absolutely nothing to fear. Really, if there existed a God in this fucked up world, he’d sent Ada Thorne at exactly the right time into her life. Nothing of the sort could be said about Alfie Solomons though, whose existence could only be explained by the Good Lord’s evil antagonist. And said antagonist obviously possessed a rather dark sense of humor by sending his earthly representative to her office today. Lillian jumped up a little in her chair as the door flew open, sending the doorbell ringing and interrupting Lillian’s daydreaming abruptly. She raised her gaze up to have a look at her unannounced visitor and felt an instant pang in her chest. Fear of the man and his intentions mixed with excitement and a weird tingling feeling in her belly as he reached inside his greatcoat. Lillian was unable to move. She registered Ava beside her casting her a frightened, insecure glance which was all it took for Lillian to get a grip on herself again. Still not feeling like the master of her own body, she forced her mouth to open and push out some fragile words that sounded strangely remote to herself. “Mr. Solomons. Wait.” Then she turned her head slowly to face Ava, the rest of her body still glued to the spot. There was something mechanical in the way Lillian forced herself to act, almost like a puppet on a string, directed by someone else. “Go, Ava.” As her secretary didn’t seem to make a move, Lillian finally managed to raise her hand and point at the door. “GO!”, she screamed and the sound of her voice was so full of fear and determination that Ava finally grabbed her coat and darted through the office, looking back at Lillian in honest concern. Then Lillian realized she was still pointing idiotically at the door and forced her body to lower her arm down to the desk. The process of her brain sending signals to her arm and making her body move seemed to take ages. Then she closed her eyes, focusing on steadying her breath from rattling uncontrollably. The sweet, fresh air calmed her agitated mind just enough for her to evaluate the situation. _That was it. I’ve overstepped and now he’s come to finish me off_ , she thought and felt another wave of fear rise inside the tightness of her chest.

“What on earth was that for?”, she heard Mr. Solomon’s deep, raspy voice ask and somehow managed to open her eyes again.

“You all right, Ms. Goldstein? You looking a bit pale, mate”

Lillian still didn’t say a word. The world was blurred out and she couldn’t focus on neither his words nor anything else that was going on right now. Then Mr. Solomons took a step in her direction and Lillian instantly covered her face as she heard a banging sound just inches away from her face. For some awful moments she waited for the bullet to enter her head. For the horrific _crack_ as her skull was being smashed in and her senses slowly faded out. But nothing happened. If this was dying, it didn’t feel like anything at all. Another couple of moments passed – Lillian couldn’t tell if it were seconds, minutes or even hours – until she finally realized that she was still very much alive. She let out a deep, shaky breath and opened her hand just enough to peek through them and catch a glimpse at Mr. Solomons looming above her very awkwardly.

“Fuck me”, she sighed and lowered her head down on the desk with a thump.

“Wouldn’t that be a bit too early, Ms.? I thought we’d talk things over first. But if you insist…”, Alfie had gotten back to his usual sarcastic manner, one hand scratching behind his ear.

Suddenly Lillian realized she’d made a complete and utter idiot of herself. If the same God that had given her Ada Thorne would grant her a wish right now, she’d gladly have the floor swallow her up here and now and send her to St. Fool’s Cathedral to confess on all the ways she’d managed to look like a fucking halfwit throughout her life. That would be a rather long session, she guessed.

Her cheeks red with the shame of overreacting to an almost ridiculous degree, she managed to actually really look at her visitor for the first time since he’d entered her office.

“What do you want?”, she managed to get out coolly, her hands fumbling with her hair to check that everything was still in its place.

“Talk”

Lillian wasn’t sure if she had the nerve to deal with his shit right now but didn’t think she actually had an option.

“Will you sit? It’s making me fucking nervous to see you standing there”

Mr. Solomons thumped down in the chair in front of her desk and took of his hat to carefully place it on top of a pile of paper. Funny, how their positions had changed. It was the first time that Lillian was the one sitting behind the boss’s desk during one of their meetings.

“So?”, she frowned at him, fumbling another cigarette from out of her case and lighting it with shaky fingers.

“That’s not how it works, mate. First you’re going to tell me, right, what the fucking hell this was about, yeah?” He waved his hand about, clearly referring to her little escapade.

Lillian took a drag, quite aware of Mr. Solomons following her every movement.

“Isn’t that obvious? I thought you’d kill me, ok? Like you finished off that poor bloke Isaacs, yeah?”

Mr. Solomons raised one eyebrow skeptically. “A poor bloke he is now, yeah?”

Lillian scoffed. “Fuck he is. Still an obnoxious bootlicking bastard, that one. But you know, there’s this thing called _conversation_ yeah? It’s what decent people do instead of being a fucking brute and shooting people in the head.”

Mr. Solomons smirked. “How do you know I shot him in the head, Ms.?”

Lillian rolled her eyes. Despite him still being a criminal and a coldblooded murderer the sudden fear that had struck her minutes before had gone now as quickly as it had come. If he wanted to kill her, he’d done so already.

“I don’t, Mr. Solomons. It’s what I’d done to make him stop his shite mouth from saying shite things, ok?” Lillian felt the sudden urge to cover her mouth as she realized what she’d just said. “ _If_ I’d done what you’ve done, that is.”

“Don’t think so, Ms. The bloody mess, I tell ya. Had to pay the carpenter double for him to even consider the work, right.” He said that as nonchalantly as other men would talk about buying furniture for their newborn baby. Lillian swallowed audibly.

“If you’re here to chitchat about your killing spree, yeah, I’m not bloody interested, Mr. Solomons”

As she tapped off the ash of her cigarette her eyes lingered on a bottle on her desk that most certainly hadn’t been there before. With another wave of embarrassment, she realized that that must be what had caused the banging noise she mistook for a bullet being fired before.

“What’s that?”, she indicated the bottle with the big silvery bow around it.

“Rum”, he answered plainly and pushed the bottle towards her.

“I can see that, thanks.” She took the bottle in her hands and examined it. “What’s it for? Do you want us to drink to the great relief of our ended relations?”

Mr. Solomons shook his head and chuckled. He had little wrinkles around the corner of his eyes when he laughed.

“On the contrary, Ms. Goldstein. I want to drink to the renewal of our relations. That is, if you’re willing to listen to me offer, right.”

Lillian shrugged her shoulders. “Do I have a choice?”

“No”

“I thought as much”

He chuckled again. “Smart girl, smart girl”, he said, waving his finger at her. 

Lillian didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept quiet.

Mr. Solomons inhaled sharply, then took the bottle out of Lillian’s hand and placed it back on the desk between them.

“First things first, mate. The last thing I want to do, yeah, is hurt you, all right? Though it’s still on my list if you happen to rat on me in the future, yeah.”

He looked Lillian right in the eye, causing her to melt a little in her chair under his firm, intense gaze. He _was_ hot, after all.

“You’ve nothing to fear from my side if you stick to the rules, yeah? And there are rules in this fucking business, right.”

Lillian still didn’t know what to say to that, so she simply nodded.

“This”, he pointed at the bottle, “like you already know, is rum, yeah.” Then he disappeared for a second to reach under the desk. When he reappeared, he held a cardboard box in his hands that matched the colour of the bow perfectly. He opened the lid and revealed a choice arrangement of pastries, cakes and other treats that smelled heavenly and made Lillian realize she was fucking starving.

“This”, he pointed at the box, “is what we use to cover up its production, yeah?”

Lillian nodded in confusion. “So?”

“Let me finish now, will ya?”, replied Mr. Solomons not unkindly but with a twitch of annoyance in his voice. He clearly wasn’t used to talking to people patiently.

“Rule number one, yeah, the distinction between rum and _bread_ , right – is not fucking discussed, ok?”

“You fucking discuss it right now, Sir”, teased Lillian.

“Fuck off, mate.”, he scowled.

“Sorry”, said Lillian and motioned him to go on.

“Rule number two, three, four, five, six and what not, yeah, other deals, right, are off the fucking menu, ‘sat clear?”

“Hardly, Sir.”

“Yeah, we’ll get to that later. Will you now fucking let me talk?”

Lillian rose from her chair instantly. “You’ve come to my bloody office to fucking talk me back into a deal, right, so fucking behave like the fucking guest you are in this place, ‘ _sat clear_?” Her voice was shaky but strong and she couldn’t help but marvel at her own courage, knowing all too well what this man was capable of.

“Sorry”, he said, fumbling around with his gold-trimmed spectacles that hung on a string around his muscular neck.

That one simple word took Lillian so much by surprise that she sank back into her chair. “What?!”, she exclaimed in honest disbelief.

“I said what I said, yeah. Don’t make me fucking repeat it.”

Lillian made a face at him. “Maybe I should write that down, yeah, just for the record.” She opened her drawer, got out a sheet of paper and began to write. “26th of April, 1922. The most honorable Mr. Alfred Solomons, OOFN, owner of the most righteous _bakery_ in Camden Town, apologized.”, she mumbled with a grin.

“What’s OOFN?”, he asked with a look of confusion on his face.

“Order of fucking nothing”, replied Lillian jokingly, then took the paper and pinned it to the board behind her. How could she be so fucking at ease with a man she’d expected to kill her shortly before?!

“Fuck off”, he repeated and rummaged the box for a particularly good-looking pastry. “Here, have a bite, yeah, maybe that’ll shut you up for a while” The small delicate cake looked rather funny in his big calloused hand.

Lillian took a heartily bite. “Mmm, pistachio”, she mumbled in between her chewing.

“Help yourself, yeah?”, he pushed the box over to her. “Like I said, yeah, there are fucking rules, ok?” He watched her reach out for another cake, his lips twitching in amusement.

“If you’ll abide by these rules, yeah, we’ll get along merrily and everyone’s happy, yeah? If you don’t … well let’s just hope it never comes to that, right.”

He paused for a moment. “You know, Ms Goldstein. You better listen to what I say, yeah? Your life might fucking depend on it”

Lilian already had a cheeky reply ready when she looked at him and saw honest concern in his eyes. “My life? Who would bloody care if I live or die? I’ve done nothing wrong, Mr. Solomons”

“That’s not how the bloody wops see things”

“…wops?”

“The Italians, Ms.”

  
“Yeah, I know what a bloody wop is. I just don’t see what they’ve got to do with me”

Mr. Solomons leaned in closer towards her. Lillian could almost feel his breath upon her face as he spoke and a shiver went down her spine.

“Ever heard of a certain Darby Sabini?”

“Nooo?”, Lillian stretched out the word in confusion.

“So, you mean to tell me, right, that no slimy git has come by these past days to talk to you, yeah?”

“Other than you, not that I’d recall, Mr. Solomons.”

He threw himself back in his chair, running a hand down his face while exhaling deeply. “Fuck me”, he sighed, as if some invisible burden had been taken from him.

“Isn’t that a bit early, Mr. Solomons? But if you insist…”, she smirked at him, not understanding why he seemed so off guard suddenly.

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t take up on her joke.

“Then let us get this over with quickly, yeah? I’m a fucking bad man, you know. Like _real_ bad, yeah. Bad like in killing and bribing and such, yeah?”

Then he went on telling her of how he was one of the fiercest gangsters in London and how he was wound up in some kind of mad fucking war with that man Sabini and how Mr. Isaacs - who’d certainly not held Lillian in high esteem - had been a spy for said Italian .That was when it finally dawned on Lillian that she might be in this already far deeper than she’d thought possible.

  
“So this guy Sabini might or might not know of my existence? And if he does, he’ll either kill me or try to win me over?”

Mr. Solomons nodded. “The fact that you’re still alive and that he’s blown up my pub makes it seem like Isaacs has kept his godforsaken mouth shut on you, but yeah, that’s about it”

Lillian pinched the bridge of her nose in disbelief. “What the actual and bloody fuck? And what am I gonna do about this?”

“You can either wait for Sabini to come to you yeah, or you’ll be on my fucking side. You can make yourself at home at the Poplar Docks, yeah, and deal with all the legal parts of the _bakery_ , right. You can keep your current clients mate, but need to inform me ‘bout anyone that approaches you from now on, yeah. You’ll go about your business independently, no need to get closer to danger than you already fucking are, mate. And you’ll assist me in some way or another, yeah, to deal with that fucking piece of shite Sabini, ‘cause believe me, if he finds out about you, yeah, he won’t fucking hesitate to fucking kill off Alfie Solomon’s mysterious delivery girl, yeah?”

Lillian gaped at him. Not so much for her life being in danger or for him being a fucking gang leader, but for what he’d actually just said.

  
“Just to get this right, yeah, you want me to fucking run the Poplar Docks?”

Mr. Solomons nodded.

“And you need my fucking _help_ in dealing with this Italian sucker, yeah?”

Now Alfie rolled his eyes, partly in amusement, partly in annoyance. “I’d rather call it _assistance_ , Ms. Goldstein, but yeah, that’s what I need”

For a long time, Lillian just stared into the room, not looking at anything in particular. Just like he’d said before, she didn’t seem to have a choice other than gathering up her belongings and leaving the fucking city. Then she fumbled open her desk drawer and got out two empty glasses, uncorked the bottle of rum and poured both of them a generous drink.

“I’m in, Mr. Solomons.” She raised her glass and watched Mr. Solomons do the same.

“It’s Alfie from now on, yeah?”

Lillian nodded. “Lillian”

She could have sworn his eyes brightened up just a little, as he said her name. “L’Chaim, Lillian”, he toasted to her in Hebrew.

“L’Chaim, Alfie”

Then she gulped the alcohol down in one single draught. 


End file.
